


migratory birds

by coslyons



Series: the thing with feathers [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Break Up, F/M, Gen, Getting Back Together, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Wedding Planning, Weddings, photographer!Blue, writer!Ronan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9261779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coslyons/pseuds/coslyons
Summary: Life has a funny way of happening all at once.Ronan is in the midst of getting his second novel published when Blue and Gansey announce they're getting married. It's almost overwhelming.And that's before he sees Adam for the first time in five years.NOTE: This fic is abandoned with a planned rewrite, but see notes in chapter 9 for more detailsI’ve changed the title from “even birds fly home” to “migratory birds”, because I wrote a poem called “migratory birds” that more closely reflects the feelings behind this version of the story.The revised version of this story will be published as “even birds fly home” once I finish writing it.





	1. December 2021

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for breaking them up.  
> (But only a little bit, because it's only a little bit about breaking up and a lot bit about growing up)
> 
> For clarity's sake, the timeline is as follows: the events of The Raven King (minus the epilogue) happened in late October of 2014. This is because I was a senior in high school then, and it's easier to conceptualize things when I can pair them to events in my own life. So I'll try to keep the dates clear, because I have a massive outline that I spent like an hour working on the other night.

Ronan startled from where he’d apparently been dozing on the couch. He could feel a mark on his face where the corner of his book had been digging into his cheek when he’d fallen asleep. He blinked groggily, trying to find the source of the noise that woke him up.

Halfway across the floor of the living room, his cell phone vibrated so violently that it was moving itself. Ronan rolled off the couch in a graceless heap, limbs still not fully cooperating from his inadvertent nap. Since no one was watching, he didn’t feel bad in the slightest for crawling over to it.

According to the hideously amazing contact picture on his phone, Blue was calling. Ronan pressed to answer the call, but before he could get out a greeting Blue was already barreling into the conversation in a way that failed to surprise or bother him any more.

“I’m so irked right now. Fucking Matt decided that everything we’ve put together for next month is absolute shit, and now we have to redo the entire issue to cater to his stupid idiosyncrasies and I am about ready to commit murder.”

There’s a brief pause. Blue sounded much less peeved on the other side of it, and so Ronan figured she’d mainly called him to vent. She continued, much more calmly, “Okay, I’m done now. How are you, Ronan?” 

“I’m doing fine,” he said, as he stood up and worked out a crick in his neck. He turned it until he felt it pop satisfyingly. “I’m about to turn in a first draft. I’ll probably have it in by the end of the week.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, my editor’s pretty excited about that too.” He looked through the bay window in the living room and frowned. It had gotten dark while he’d been conked out on the couch. “Besides your boss being a dick, how’s your photography going for you?”

As Blue told him about all the photography projects she’d been working on, Ronan shuffled to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and stared, completely uninspired, at its contents for a little while before he pulled out a container he’d made earlier in the week specifically for nights when he didn’t have the motivation to cook.

He popped the container in the microwave, and said, “Wait, so you’re taking pictures of shelter dogs that make them look super adorable, and that actually makes them get adopted? Holy shit, that’s genius!”

Blue laughed. “It’s not my idea, but I had the skillset, so I figured I could help out at my local shelter. Speaking of which!” Blue’s voice sounded a little more distant as she said, “I really couldn’t help myself.”

“Sargent, don’t tell me you got a dog.”

Ronan’s phone buzzed in his hand. Blue’s voice was back to a normal volume as she said, “Okay. I won’t tell you. But you should look at the picture I just sent you whenever we hang up. His name is Oxford. And before you say anything, I want you to know that Gansey is the one who named him.”

“I’m surprised your landlord let you have a pet. Especially since you’re in the city like you are.”

“Mrs. Liu is a darling, and I will not let you slander her.” Blue paused. “Although, admittedly, I think she was going to say no until she met Oxford. He’s very charming when he tries to be.”

The microwave beeped, and Ronan pulled out his enchiladas. “Speaking of creatures who can be charming when they want to be, how’s Gansey?”

The phone went completely silent for long enough that Ronan looked at it to make sure he hadn’t accidentally hung up. Confused, he put the phone back to his ear, and took a bite of enchiladas.

“I think I want to marry him.”

Ronan inhaled a piece of enchilada, and started coughing violently. When he got enough air to have some semblance of normal breathing, he croaked out, “What the fuck, maggot! You can’t just spring something like that on me without some warning. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Sorry. I just. That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.” Blue exhaled shakily, and sounded much more confident when she repeated, “I want to marry Gansey.”

Ronan cleared his throat and rubbed his hand across his mouth, trying to wrap his head around it. “When did this happen? Last I heard, you were still against marriage as an institution.”

“Yeah. Well. I guess not.” Blue huffed an uncomfortable laugh, and Ronan immediately felt a little bad for poking fun at her.

“Hey. Sargent. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fantastic. I’m just wondering where it came from.” Ronan went to take another bite of enchilada, but he’s suddenly not hungry anymore. He set down his fork with a scowl.

“It didn’t really come from anywhere. I just kind of...woke up one day, and the sun was shining through the window just right and the idea hit me and then it just never went away.”

“That’s amazing.”

Blue sounded a little helpless and extremely happy when she said, “Yes. It really is.”

They sat in silence together for a few minutes to let this gigantic revelation sink in properly.

“Ronan?”

“Yeah?”

“If we really do this thing--you know, the whole  _ wedding _ thing--would you be my man of honor?” When Ronan didn’t say anything right away, Blue continued to talk, her words panicked and rushed. “I mean, you can say no if you want to, or you can be Gansey’s wedding person or whatever. Really this is no--”

Ronan found his words after a brief moment where shock turned his brain off. “Fuck off, Sargent. Of course I’ll do it. Jesus fucking Christ. That’s not even in question.”

Blue, sounding much relieved, changed the subject to other, less emotionally fraught, topics. Ronan, who felt rather relieved himself at the new conversation topic, let her lead the conversation. He was trying to continue sounding happy about everything, but his heart had dropped out of his chest and into his stomach.

* * *

 

 

Ronan slept fitfully in the night, hardly managing to string an hour or two together, his dreams insubstantial and dizzying. He woke up feeling heavy, like his bones were made of iron or stone. Outside his window, the world was quiet and dim; there were no birds singing even though the sun was starting to peek over the distant mountains.

He got up, and pulled on sweatpants over his boxers. When he walked to the bathroom, the tile floor was cold against his bare feet. He glared tiredly at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were getting bad again, making him look ancient under the fluorescent lights. 

The sink water was running cold again for the year, he noticed as he was washing his face. It was another sure sign that winter had the Barns tight in its grips.

After he dried his face off with a hand towel, he halfheartedly finger combed his hair. It was getting just long enough that it was developing a bit of a curl. Ronan had always looked like his father, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about having his father’s face staring back at him from beneath dark curls every time he looked in the mirror. It was probably a sign of maturation that he only wanted to break the mirror a quarter of the time now. He still doesn’t trust his reflection not to hurt him, but the hurt has changed from a stabbing pain to a dull ache these days.

It’s too early for this. He needs coffee.

But first, clothes. Ronan pressed his hand against the glass in his bedroom, trying to gauge how many layers he’d need today. He threw on a long sleeved shirt, some wool socks, and his work jeans. It was too warm inside to put on the brightly colored hat that Blue had knitted for him three Christmases ago, so he carried it in his hands on the way to the kitchen.

As he headed downstairs, Ronan avoided the creaky step halfway down the stairs with a cursory glance at Opal’s room. In all likelihood, she probably wasn’t even in there, but half a lifetime’s habits don’t die so easily. Besides, it would have been wrong to be the one to break the layer of silence that settled over the house like snow.

The kitchen was chilly when he walked in, with lacy frost blurring the view from the window above the sink. He put a filter in the machine, and measured the grounds into it. While the pot of coffee brewed, he went into the living room to where the fireplace held faintly glowing embers among piles of white ash. The scent of woodsmoke rushed over him as he stoked the fire, adding another piece of wood to keep it going while he did chores. Ronan let the heat of the fire on the skin of his face chase out some of the lingering chill he’d been feeling. 

The coffee was probably almost done by now. Ronan stood up, and arched his back until his spine clicked. When he shuffled into the kitchen, just the smell of the coffee did wonders towards waking him up. He poured himself a cup and left enough room for hazelnut creamer. Coffee in hand, he leaned against the kitchen island and looked at the mist rising up from the ground. 

It should have felt like a dream. One of the good kind. But there was an ache beneath Ronan’s sternum, and it whispered that something was missing. Like usual, he ignored it.

Once he’d finished his coffee and left his rinsed out mug sitting in the sink, he headed towards the mudroom to get his coat and work boots. Ronan stepped out onto the porch and shivered in his jacket. The cold air snaked fingers down the back of his neck and he pulled his hat down further onto his head. When he breathed, his breath clouded the air in front of him like smoke. The sun had cleared the horizon, painting the Barns in all the colors of the morning.

Ronan shook himself, and headed towards the barn that held his father’s cattle. They hadn’t done anything in the decade since his father had died (despite his best efforts), but he would have felt wrong not to check in on them every day. They were the same as always: great, sleeping beasts breathing gently on his hands when he held them in front of their faces. There was nothing more to do here.

He went to his greenhouse, shucking his jacket at the entrance. Ronan kept it warm and humid enough for his tropical plants to flourish despite the temperatures outside. The orchids bloomed in shades of purple and pink, their petals the color of fresh bruises. Holding the heavy strands of flowers up, he walked to the back corner, the home the latest of his dream plant. He never dreamed them fully grown anymore. It was only ever tiny seeds and delicate seedlings, and he always had to be very careful to make sure he didn’t break them with clumsy fingers when he brought them back. The bright blue leaves of his last dream had just started poking through the soil. He doesn’t remember the kind of flowers it was supposed to have, but he remembers thinking they were beautiful.

After checking in on his greenhouse, Ronan walked around the rest of the Barns just like he always did. It was a kind of comfort he could touch, this place he had pulled out of disrepair with his own two hands. The fences were all in order, the barn cats were still kicking, and there weren’t any critters that had taken up residence in the walls. The only thing that required Ronan’s direct action was a hornet's nest he found under the eaves of the house, and that took him maybe ten minutes.

It was early enough that whatever meal he ate when he got back to the house would probably most accurately be described as brunch, but strict meal times weren’t as big of an issue when you kept your own schedule. He does eat at least twice a day though, so he figured he counted as at least a moderately functioning adult.

Knocking the loose dirt from his boots on the rock he’d placed there specifically for that purpose, Ronan walked back inside the house. The warmth of it wrapped around him like a pair of arms, and his shoulders automatically relaxed. He hung his coat on its hook in the mudroom, and left his boots standing just beneath it. The sight of his jacket hanging all by itself was awfully lonely. Turning to the kitchen, Ronan tried not to let the thought bother him too much.

It was a day for soup. That’s at least one thing Ronan retained from his mom. When it was cold outside or you felt cold inside, soup was the proper remedy. Since today was a little bit of both, Ronan decided to make some potato soup. His mom’s recipe notebook was getting tattered at the edges from use. Soon he’d have to copy them down into another book if he wanted to keep this one legible, but he wasn’t quite ready to lose the sight of his mother’s neat handwriting when he cooked.

The too-thick quiet in the kitchen was palpable. Ronan needed music. Today, the radio station he usually liked grated on him like fingernails on a chalkboard, and so he found the CD he remembers his dad playing around the holidays. The singers had voices that rang pure as a bell, and the gentle guitar swelled behind their voices. Music filled the empty spaces in the kitchen as Ronan started to wash and peel potatoes for his soup.

By the time he started to cut the potatoes and onions into chunks, his mind was already on autopilot. The satisfying crunch of the knife through the potatoes was the only thing to break through the disconnect between his brain and body. Before he knew it, everything was chopped and in the pot on the stove. He poured in some chicken broth, and set it on the stovetop to boil. After he threw in some seasonings and the rest of the ingredients, and waited for the potatoes to soften. His favorite part of this whole thing was taking the stick blender and whirring up the contents of the pot. Arms guarded with brightly covered oven mitts to prevent splatter, he blended the soup until it was smooth.

Opal clattered into the kitchen just as he pulled the blender from the pot of soup, her uncanny ability to sense the moment Ronan finished cooking once again making itself known. She bumped the top of her head against his hip, and he ran a hand over her head. Opal hadn’t grown much (if at all) since he’d pulled her out of his dreams. By now, Ronan suspected she never would. She occupied the same space in his life he figured a household faerie might. She ate food at his table, slept in his home, and spent most of the day doing things around the house that Ronan found mysterious but must have made perfect sense to her. Occasionally, she’d squint at him like he was the one who made no sense. He’d had years to get used to it, and it still sometimes creeped him out.

“Hey, brat. Hungry?”

She nodded, and went to sit at the table. Ronan scooped soup into a glass bowl for himself, and a plastic bowl for Opal. When he walked into the dining room, Opal was sitting at the head of the table and eyeing him oddly. Since she didn’t say anything, Ronan ignored it. He said grace to himself and started to eat his soup. The warmth of it filtered through him.

By the time he’s reached the bottom of the bowl, Opal is still staring at him.

Ronan scowled. “What?”

“The winds are changing, but you shouldn’t be afraid of them anymore.”

Before he could say anything, Opal scampered away from the table and out the door. The walls shook from where she slammed it behind her.Ronan had to sit there for a moment before he decided to give up on understanding anything that came out of Opal’s mouth. He took the dishes to the sink and washed them. 

Once he’d packed up the rest of the soup in neat little containers to eat later, he padded down the hall to the sun room. The wicker furniture stood like islands, surrounded by an ocean of houseplants. Tucked away in the corner was his writing armchair. He’s always hated sitting on wicker, and so he’d dragged this chair in so he could work in his favorite room in the house. His laptop was already sitting on the side table where he’d left it yesterday. There were only two chapters that Ronan needed to work on. With any luck he’d be done in a few hours.

Ronan let the words consume him. They swirled around him, carrying emotions like skittering leaves. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pushing the story from his brain to the computer.

And there.

It was finally done. 

Ronan sighed in relief, and emailed his editor.

The room was so much colder than it had been. Ronan shivered as he packed up his laptop and climbed the stairs to go to bed. He was tired and his body called for sleep.

But sleep would not come. All he could do was stare at the flecks of adhesive on the ceiling of his childhood bedroom and wait for morning to come again.


	2. December 2021: the Holiday Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like, [I have a spotify playlist for this story](https://open.spotify.com/user/coslyons/playlist/7uKEUr3BHMn8tPsgLvc2G2) (because 8tracks is being a turd bucket and youtube is annoying bc ads on mobile)

The clouds were dark as bruises as Ronan drove to Henrietta on Christmas Eve. The temperature had plunged overnight, leaving everyone shivering and clutching their coats tighter. It was impossible to tell if the sun had set yet or not.

In the backseat of the BMW, Opal was pressing a long fingered hand against the window. She looked delighted at the foggy handprint left on the glass, and chattered excitedly in the language of the treelights at him.

Ronan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the quirk of his mouth. “Come on, kid. We’ve been over this. English or Latin only.”

“The glass remembers my hand!”

He huffed a laugh. “Yep, it does.”

The electronic radio station he’d turned on back at the Barns had turned quiet and moody. Ronan still wasn’t really sure he wanted to go to the holiday party at 300 Fox Way.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. Far from it, in fact. Something about this year felt wrong, like a slightly warped mirror or a room with all the furniture moved two inches to the left. It’s left him off kilter in a way that made it hard to enjoy this time of year like he felt he’s supposed to.

300 Fox Way was overflowing with cars when he pulled up. He parked in front of one of the neighbors’ yards, making sure he wasn’t blocking their driveway. Opal was trying to climb out of the car almost before it was parked. She left the car door hanging open as she sprinted to the house. Ronan grabbed the pan of pecan pie bars he’d left on the front seat, and, sighing, went to close the back seat door. The lights flashed as he locked the car with the key fob.

Calla was waiting at the front door when he got there; Opal had already disappeared within the depths of the house. He handed off the pan before taking off his coat and trying to find a place on the overflowing coat rack to put it.

She made a scornful noise, and said, “Took you long enough, boy.”

“It’s good to see you too, Calla.”

Ronan aimed for something sarcastic, but had to bite down on his grin. They were only pretending to dislike each other nowadays, but that was mostly because the two of them were too similar to do anything else. She rolled her eyes at him, and went to put the dessert on the folding table that was serving as the dessert table. The table was bowed in the middle from its bounty of baked goods.

The kitchen was a madhouse. Ronan didn’t think he’d ever seen so many women in one place in his entire life before. The warmth of the ovens and the sheer number of bodies made him glad that he’d taken off his coat. On one corner of the counter, there was a truly dizzying array of bottles and a small army of eggnog cartons. Judging by the loud laughter, everyone had been freely partaking. The smell of cloves and rosemary filled the kitchen, and a small part of him relaxed into it.

“Ronan!”

Blue pushed out of the crush of bodies in the kitchen to where Ronan was still lurking at the door. She threw her arms around him, and even though she was so much smaller than he was, she still knocked him back a step in her enthusiasm. Her cheeks were flushed with heat and what he suspected was Maura’s dangerously potent mulled wine.

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the crush of people. It was a game of incremental movements where everyone shifted just enough to let them through. They made it to the living room, where Gansey sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs in the corner. It looked like he’d been drinking the mulled wine too. Blue sprawled across his lap, and pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek. The number of brightly colored lip prints on Gansey’s face indicated that this wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Hey, Gansey.”

Gansey’s face lit up as he saw Ronan. He shifted awkwardly until Blue got off his lap, and then gave Ronan a hug. It was not a fast hug. Gansey held on for long enough that Ronan was starting to get vaguely uncomfortable. He patted Gansey on the back to try and get him to let go, but Gansey just swayed.

Ronan gave Blue an alarmed look, but she was too busy laughing to catch it. He took a small step back, and Gansey finally let go of him. To Ronan’s continued horror, he had tears in his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Not knowing what else to do, Ronan patted Gansey on the shoulder. Blue was still being useless with laughter. Ronan made an attempt at comforting Gansey. “We saw each other less than a month ago. At Thanksgiving. And you call me at least once every other week.”

That seemed to do the trick. There seemed to be no imminent danger of tears now. Blue had finally managed to pull herself enough to say, “Gansey’s had quite a bit to drink tonight. You know how he gets.”

Gansey started to look offended by her remarks, but that quickly shifted to hopelessly besotted when Blue smacked another colorful kiss on Gansey’s cheek.

Trying to cut them off before they forgot he was there and started being gross and couple-y, Ronan asked, “How’s school?”

Gansey told one hilarious story after the next, regaling them with far fetched tales of his misadventures in grad school. The stories were complete with grand gesticulations and impersonations of people he knew. Ronan listened, and let himself sink into the enjoyment of being around his friends.

Gansey is halfway through a story involving his thesis advisor’s cat, a jar of honey, and a bag of catnip, when Maura’s voice cut through the noise in the room as she said, “It’s almost midnight!”

Ronan started. He’d gotten so caught up in Gansey’s stories that he’d lost track of the time. The room emptied around them. Abandoned drinks littered every flat surface as people put on their coats to file into the backyard. A basket full of white candles sat right next to the back door, and everyone grabbed one as they walked out. Ronan rolled the smooth wax between his hands, cold enough that he felt the need to move around. The clouds overhead covered the moon and stars, leaving the world dark

The only conversations were quiet murmurs; the night felt reverent and holy despite the fact that this was probably as far from Christmas mass as you could get. Religion had always been an experience of family for Ronan, not an experience of faith. It was probably some sort of blasphemy to spend Christmas Eve celebrating a vaguely pagan ritual, but the truth was, this was the closest Ronan ever comes to feeling God.

The quiet conversation stopped when Maura lit her candle with a match. It was an explosion of brightness from the dark. _Let there be light._ She turned to her neighbor, sharing the flame and spreading the light. The flame got passed around, until every candle was lit.

The candles were golden stars in the space around the beech tree, and the world trembled in anticipation. Bursting forth from the silence, a high, ringing voice pierced the night. Ronan couldn’t see who started the song this year, but he still got chills when more voices joined in. The song rose and fell, taking on a life of its own. The song swelled, drawing out his own voice.

Ronan hardly felt himself in the swirling chorus. They all had become one being, one glorious voice with many mouths. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes. The cold air bit at his throat and the inside of his lungs, but instead of being uncomfortable, it felt like being born anew.

Like all things, the song eventually reached its end. The voices dropped out one by one until only the first singer still carried the song, and then even they fell silent. People started to blow out their candles and head back inside. Ronan had to stand there for a little while, collecting himself. He felt scrubbed clean and raw.

Something nudged at his arm. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes. Opal looked up at him, then reached for his hand. They understood each other well, the pair of them. They were both built on a foundation of dreams. She watched him with her big, dark eyes, before tugged him back towards the house.

Together they walked back inside.

 

* * *

 

Something about the light in the guest room seemed strange when Ronan woke up the next morning. It was too pale and too watery, like looking at the world from behind a piece of tissue paper. Before he had to think about it too much, the door flew open and Opal flung herself onto the bed, knocking the breath out of him.

“Kerah! Snow!” Opal shook him excitedly.

Ronan looked at the glowing red numbers of the M&M alarm clock on the bedside table. 7:21. He flopped his head back on the pillow and sighed. Impatient, Opal shook him again. When he opened his eyes again to glare at her, she looked at him pleadingly.

He sighed again because he felt the need to, and said, “Okay. Fine. I’m up.”

Opal leapt from the bed, and left the room as suddenly as she’d entered it. Ronan sat up in the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He went to stand in front of the window.

Outside, the world was remade in white. The snow fell heavily, like feathers raining down from a torn pillow. He huffed a delighted laugh, and went to go pull on his boots.

When he went downstairs to get his coat, he saw the children of 300 Fox Way similarly rushing to get out into the snow. At the sight of him, they froze up, uncertainty in their eyes. He looked back. Most of them were wearing pajamas underneath their coats and boots. Since he was technically an adult and an authority figure, he should probably have told them to go put on proper clothes to play outside, but instead he just shrugged at them.

They exploded out the front door and into the snowy front yard. Even their excited yelling couldn’t pierce the heavy silence of the snowfall. The sun wasn’t quite out yet, so everything felt surreal in the half-light.

A snowball hitting him in the face broke his thoughts. Opal was standing a little ways off, looking entirely unrepentant.

“Oh, it’s on!”

Ronan scooped up snow as he ran towards her, then threw the snowball at her. Opal dodged it, then had the _gall_ to stick her tongue out at him. Unfortunately that was enough to get all the other kids on board with a fun new game. The fun new game was called “gang up on the grown up”. It went a little something like this: eight children between the ages of four and thirteen all circled around him and threw snowballs at him. It was a massacre.

An hour later, and the children were all soaked to the bone, shivering, and grinning from ear to ear. Maura gave him a knowing look as he wearily trudged into the house behind them all.

“I had them on the ropes,” he said, feeling the need to defend himself.

Maura said nothing, just took a sip of her tea as she turned back to the kitchen.

  


When Ronan came back down stairs in dry clothes, Maura and a woman that Ronan had never met before were looking out the window and holding coffee mugs. He walked over to the cabinet and grabbed a cheerful-looking penguin mug. He poured himself a cup of coffee. Another woman came to stand with Maura and her friend at the window. He stirred in some creamer. The three women were whispering quietly to each other.

Leaning against the counter, Ronan took a sip of his coffee. Calla came and joined the growing group standing at the window. He swallowed slowly. Two more women hurried over to the window. People were standing on tiptoe to try and see out of it.

Giving in to his curiosity, Ronan walked over to the window. He was taller than most of the women and didn’t need to stand on tiptoe to see over their heads. Blue and Gansey were in the backyard, holding hands and looking at the snow fall. Ronan frowned at Maura in confusion, but she wasn’t looking at him.

Outside, Blue turned to Gansey, holding both of his hands in hers. Ronan had no idea what was going on, until suddenly he did. Just as the realization hit him, Blue got down on one knee in front of Gansey, still holding his hands. The flock of women at the window with him looked on excitedly. They couldn’t hear what was being said, but Ronan figured Gansey probably said yes when he picked up Blue in his arms and spun her around in a circle. When it looked like Gansey and Blue were going to start kissing, Ronan walked away to give them a little privacy.

While everyone else was still watching Blue and Gansey, Ronan helped himself to a piece of the breakfast casserole. It smelled like cheese and bacon, which was to say, it smelled delicious. The biscuits were cool enough to eat now, and so he buttered one up and covered it in honey. He et his plate on the table, and then poured himself another cup of coffee.

He was just sitting down to start on his breakfast casserole when the women at the window scattered in a way that was too quick to be of their own volition. Sure enough, Gansey and Blue walked through the back door seconds later. If Ronan hadn’t seen them scatter, he wouldn’t have known that Maura, Calla, and their friends had been snooping, but Blue squinted in suspicion at her mother. Maura affected an innocent look that implied that she would _never_ spy on her daughter’s marriage proposal.

“Fucking psychics,” Blue muttered. She was trying to scowl, but couldn’t seem to manage it when Gansey lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Blue’s. Her mood visibly shifted at the touch of Gansey’s lips.

And then they were all laughing. Ronan couldn’t tell who started it, and nothing was really all that funny. That didn’t stop them from laughing like a bunch of loons. Ronan knew that his laughter probably sounded completely hysterical

God. His best friends were going to get married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for christmas! The 300 Fox Way holiday is actually a religious and non religious celebration. It's spiritual without following a particular doctrine. Which is why it's exact date of celebration varies with whoever is hosting that year in Maura's circle of psychic and witchy friends. Usually it's somewhere in the December 17-25 range, but can be as early as November 28 and as late as December 31.  
> For song ref, Lux Aurumque by Eric Whitacre is sort of what I imagine it sounding like.
> 
> Gansey and Blue are engaged now! More exciting things to come soon! Or whenever I write the next chapter!  
> Please validate me and also let me know if there are any massive grammar or spelling fuck ups.   
> EDIT 1.30.17: If you want to catch a sneak preview/shape the path of the fic/be the real MVP, I am looking for a beta reader to help me hammer the next chapter into shape. Please message me at questionabledivinity on tumblr if you're interested!


	3. January, February, and March, 2022

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am looking for someone to beta this fic! If you're interested, please let me know at [questionabledivinity](http://questionabledivinity.tumblr.com/)!  
> EDIT: praise the lord, a beta has been found!
> 
>  
> 
> [the Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/coslyons/playlist/7uKEUr3BHMn8tPsgLvc2G2)

Just like that, the holidays were over and it was back to work, back to school, back to hanging out by himself at the Barns. It was honestly kind of horrible. He’d gotten so used to not working that he was feeling particularly lackluster about actually doing productive things again. For a while, Ronan idly kicked around ideas for his next project, looking at the scraps of paper he saved in a file folder in his desk. They were all fragments of ideas, and he was not feeling particularly inclined to actually start piecing anything together.

Since his editor hadn’t given him any notes yet, Ronan went ahead and started answering some of the questions his readers were asking him on his blog. Most of them were about _Saving Grace_ , but some were about his upcoming book. They had the title and the publishing date, but everyone wanted to know more about it. Ronan wasn’t about to answer any questions about plot, but he did share the cover design with them.

Honestly, Deborah had really outdone herself with this one. She’d done the cover design for his first book, and Ronan hadn’t hesitated to reach out to her again for this one. It was entirely in black and white, except for a spot of bright red in the center. Everyone seemed really excited about the cardinal painted in the middle of the boy’s chest like a bleeding heart, but Ronan couldn’t look away from the boy’s face. Deborah had left the boy’s face completely in shadow, with only the barest suggestion of features. It could have been anyone. It could have been no one.

It could have been Ronan himself.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

After answering a few questions about _Saving Grace_ , Ronan made another post about how he wouldn’t be answering any plot questions about his new book until several months after it came out. He’d never had to deal with people asking him for spoilers, even vaguely, and decided to err on the side of extreme caution. Ronan’s popularity--as much as you could call it that--was still relatively new.

It was honestly a little ridiculous how fast it all came about. The first book he’d ever written had ended up super popular with a movie on the way, which honestly _never_ happened. It’s even more surreal because he’d only sort of stumbled into writing anyway. The only reason he’d even sent out query letters in the first place is because Blue had read his story and strong armed him into it. She’s the only person he actually knows who’s read any of his work, and there’s a reason for it. Sargent was no snitch, and Ronan appreciated that about her. He always ended up putting pieces of himself in the stories he told, and Ronan doesn’t really like the idea of giving someone else a way to ask the right questions.

He gave himself a mental shake, and jotted down a note to talk to Elizabeth about it the next time he saw her. Ronan knew that those were the kind of thoughts he had to watch out for and guard against.

And so, Ronan shut down his laptop, and went to go bake some “quit being a fucking drag” chocolate chip cookies. He’d learned the hard way that he had to do something productive when he felt like shit, otherwise he’d self destruct. He’d built himself up too much to start dismantling it now.

By the beginning of February, Karen had emailed her editing notes, and Ronan got to work sorting them out. Most of them were basic grammar errors, much to Ronan’s relief. He’d been a little afraid that this book would go the way of his first one: massive overhauls that would have left Ronan frustrated and discouraged. Karen seemed to like the book pretty much as it was, though.

It made sense when he really thought about it. He’d been working on this story since before his first one got published, so something like five years now. Ronan has been writing and rewriting and editing and re-editing this book for almost as long as he’s been writing in the first place.

He spent the month going back and forth with Karen about some of her notes. It’s mostly a lot of long phone calls where Ronan made gestures she couldn't see while arguing about commas and word choice. Their bitterest battle was about a chapter she wanted to cut because it slowed down the narrative but that Ronan loved. She was usually right, but Ronan always felt the need to argue on principle.

He has also started receiving emails from Gary, the publicist. Mostly they were just reminders about things he couldn’t be trusted to remember on his own, like the language he used to interact with fans and upcoming events. Ronan finally received confirmation about the logistics of Comic Con in July, and that was a relief. He hated crowds and liked it when other people structured his time spent in them.

Ronan wrote the details of the trip in the planner Gansey got him for his birthday last October. It’s a quaint little leather bound book that is already looking a little bedraggled two months in. He liked it because it was not his cell phone, and because it gave him a chance to jot down any errant thoughts he might have.

Declan called him once that week to talk about investments and Matthew’s college fund. Ronan felt very mature about it. He didn't swear or yell once, even if he did scribble little doodles the entire time Declan was talking. Truthfully, Declan wasn't so bad once he'd pulled his head out of his ass. Ronan even considered him a resource, especially whenever he went over his finances. He’ll give Declan this: no matter what else it might say about him, his position at the investment firm was well deserved.

* * *

On one of his editing days, Ronan had just finished speaking with Karen when Blue called him.

“Ronan, I am going to go out of my goddamned mind.”

Spinning around in his desk chair, Ronan waited a moment, and when Blue didn’t say anything else, he asked, “What is it this time?”

The phone line crackles as Blue huffs angrily into the microphone. “So you know how me and Gansey are doing that whole wedding thing? How it was going to be a nice little fun thing that just happened to have legal consequences?”

Ronan nodded, and then, after a moment spent reexamining his life decisions, said, “Yes.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen anymore. Gansey squealed, and now his mom is involved.”

“You don’t mean--”

Blue’s voice is grave. “I do. She sicced Helen on us.”

He gasped dramatically, because he knew Blue was actually kind of upset and probably needed the cheering up.

It worked, because Blue laughed a little and said, “I know, right? But yeah. This is going to be a whole thing now. Like with fancy invitations and a fancy party and fancy everything.”

“Please tell me they’re at least trying to bribe you by paying for the honeymoon.”

He could practically hear Blue making a face. “Small potatoes. Apparently Mrs. Gansey has been waiting years for one of her kids to get married, and since Helen apparently still finds the idea of dating boring, she’s decided to seize this opportunity to throw a grand ceremony.”

“And Gansey’s too much of a bleeding heart to withstand the guilt tripping from his mother,” Ronan said, trying to read between the lines.

Blue’s sigh confirmed it. “Pretty much. Anyway, I was just calling to tell you that me and Gansey will be in DC during Spring break if you want to come hang out with us. And by hang out, I mean save us from acute wedding planning.”

Ronan flipped to the March section of his calendar. “Yeah, I can definitely be there to run interference. I know how Helen gets sometimes.”

Blue breathed, “You're a lifesaver, Ronan,” and then hung up.

He stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, and said to the empty room, “Okay. Bye then.”

* * *

March came faster than he even knew it. The snows were getting drippy and melty, and he knew spring wasn't far off.

Everything was happening faster now. Something about the sunshine made everyone shake off the winter lethargy.

The drive to DC felt quicker than usual, but Ronan knows that’s just because he was happy to be making the drive. Some people meditated, some people exercised, but Ronan liked driving.

It was late enough in the morning that he’d missed the morning rush hour, and so he found the restaurant easily. Parking was a little harder, but, much to Ronan’s delight, there was a parking garage two blocks over.

A short walk later, and Ronan was walking through the front door of the restaurant. The inside was nice in a way that was quiet instead of obnoxious. There were no crystal chandeliers or gilt walls, only furniture that showed its worth through simplicity.

Ronan looked around the restaurant trying to find Blue and Gansey. He was about to give up and ask the host stand when Gansey caught sight of him and started waving excitedly.

He made his way over, weaving between the tables. Both Blue and Gansey were drinking mimosas with brunch. When Ronan raised an eyebrow, Blue said, “I am not going through this without alcohol.”

Shrugging, he took off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair he was claiming. He sat between Blue and the last empty seat because he figured she’d need the extra buffer against hurricane Helen.

“So,” Ronan said, glancing at the brunch menu, “how’s Oxford?”

Gansey launched into a story about how Oxford almost stole a small child, complete with hand gestures and a giant grin. He was by far the best storyteller Ronan knew, including himself. Something about his ever-present enthusiasm made the story vital and real in a way that Ronan was still trying to master in his writing.

Midway through the story, Helen walked in the front door, toting a truly massive purse. Ronan could see the exact moment she caught sight of Gansey’s very bright sweater, and had to take a moment to mourn the fact that Gansey has broken all his bad wardrobe habits except the bright colors. Since Blue herself has taken a more adventurous approach to color over the past few years, Ronan figured he was fighting a losing battle on that front. Unfortunately.

Helen didn’t really weave through the tables so much as stride and have the whole world reshape itself around her. She sat in the empty chair between Ronan and Gansey, draping herself gracefully and effortlessly on the brown leather of it.

She pulled a hefty binder out of her purse, and it landed on the table with a thump. Papers and fabric peeked out of it. It bore an uncanny resemblance to Gansey’s Glendower journal, which led Ronan to think there might be a genetic component to the Gansey siblings’ selective hoarding of information.

“I’ve pulled a couple of samples of stuff I’ve done before,” Helen said. “Take a look at these, and see if anything catches your fancy.”

There was a slightly manic glint to Helen’s eyes that Ronan had never seen before in all his years of knowing the Ganseys. For reasons Ronan truly could not fathom, Helen Gansey really liked weddings.

Blue eyed the binder with considerable apprehension. Gansey just looked resigned, and flagged down a waiter.

“We better get food before we start. I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short and disjointed chapter because I didn't feel like cleaning it up and I had no beta reader to help me beat it into proper shape. If you value fic quality, pls be the real MVP and talk through the fic with me. As an added bonus, you'll also get to look at the future chapters (of which I have some parts written). Again, the link is [questionabledivinity](http://questionabledivinity.tumblr.com/)  
> EDIT: repeat, beta has been found *crchkk* over
> 
> Anyway, the important thing to take from this chapter is that its gonna be a big and stressful wedding, and Ronan has a book coming out. As always, validation is something I do enjoy, so if you've got literally anything to say, please say it
> 
> And I know it's been a lot of words already, but Adam is gonna show up next chapter. Cross my heart and all that jazz. (that's a great pun for reasons you will see soon)


	4. May, June, and July, 2022

April was just a mess of phone calls, emails, and boring errands. The only even moderately exciting thing to happen was Gansey calling Ronan to invite him to a party that one of his fellow grad students (or maybe it was fellow sons of politicians, Ronan hadn’t really paid that much attention) was hosting a party at the end of the semester. This friend of Gansey’s apparently had booked a house just outside of DC, and was planning on throwing a giant, literary themed party. It sounded kind of lame, but Gansey had seemed pretty thrilled, and honestly, Ronan really needed to spend more time with people his own age.

 

Which was how Ronan was playing designated driver for this party, a fact that was, he thought as the mansion came into view, going to make this much more difficult.

Blue and Gansey were sitting together in the backseat. They were dressed like a photograph from the 1920s. Ronan had only been able to suffer through fifteen minutes of Gatsby/Gansey jokes on the car ride over before threatening to dump them on the side of the road. He’d actually done that once to Blue just to prove a point, so they both knew he wasn’t joking and wisely stopped. 

The inside of the place was just as ridiculous as its outside. In the foyer, a crystal chandelier glittered on the ceiling, throwing little flecks over rainbow all over the walls and floor. Halfway up the stairs, a guy wearing an old fashioned suit gestured expansively with his arm, and said, “Gansey!”

He went down the stairs so fast that Ronan briefly thought he was falling down them.

When he reached Gansey, he pulled him into one of those masculine hugs that involves a lot of back slapping. Gansey grinned widely, and said, “It’s good to see you, Brad.”

The two of them chatted for a little while, so Ronan let his eyes wander. Most of the people were in their mid twenties, although Ronan spotted an elderly professorial type gesticulating wildly in the corner. About half of the people were wearing themed outfits, matching the Roaring Twenties vibe that Brad was obviously trying to cultivate. Ronan felt a little out of place in his jeans and tank top. The air conditioning in the house wasn’t working enough, and so Ronan already felt sweaty and flushed from the crowd of people.

Gansey tapped Ronan’s arm with his elbow. He’d finished his conversation while Ronan had zoned out. The three of them walked into the living room after a detour to the kitchen for drinks, and miraculously found room on a couch. There wasn’t quite enough space for all three of them, and so Ronan ended up standing just in front of them. 

Ronan’s mouth felt cottony already. There were just so many people. He clutched his bottle of water tighter.

Someone nudged past him, and said to Gansey, “Hey man! How’s it going?”

“Hey Trent! It’s going great.” At Blue’s prompting, he continued, “Oh, I don’t know if you’ve met Blue, my fiancee, and Ronan. He’s an old friend of mine.” 

Trent reached out to shake Blue’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

He held out his hand to Ronan too. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

His smile looked strange, like he had too many teeth for his mouth. Ronan ignored the hand. Trent left it awkwardly between the two of them for another beat, before lowering it with an uncomfortable laugh.

Gansey, giving Ronan a stink eye for his rudeness, immediately drew Trent into a conversation about Blue’s photography. They were kind of sickeningly adorable that way. Gansey never missed an opportunity to brag about how talented Blue was, and this was no exception.

Ronan let himself zone out of the conversation again. They didn’t need any of his input to sustain it, and he was fine just standing there.

A while later, Gansey caught sight of someone over Ronan’s shoulder and said, “Hey! I thought you said you couldn't make it.”

“Yeah, well, turns out there was a typo in the calendar,” a very familiar voice said wryly, “and the meeting is actually tomorrow.”

Gansey jumped up from his spot on the couch to hug him. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Ronan turned to look at Adam for the first time in five years.

Adam wore his skin better than he used to. Ronan could see that immediately. 

He looked good. Healthier. Happier. 

California had been kind to him, turning his hair to bright gold and his skin to burnished bronze. His freckles scattered all over his face and neck like constellations flung across a spangled sky. He’d finally grown into his hands and ears, filling out into solidity from the lanky teenager he’d been. Ronan’s heart clenched at the sight of the easy smile stretched on his lips and caught in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

He was completely different from the Adam that had left Henrietta behind. But then, Ronan wasn't the same Ronan from back then either. That’s a symptom of growing up, probably: learning to fully inhabit your personhood, filling up all the empty spaces with new leaves like a plant reaching for the sun.

Surprise was naked on Adam’s face once he caught sight of Ronan. There must have been a strange expression on Ronan’s face too, because Gansey immediately jumped in on the awkward pause.

He clapped a hand on Adam shoulder, and said, “Adam got a promotion with his job, and now he works in their DC office.”

“I don't know if you could call it a  _ promotion _ , per se,” Adam said as he crossed his arms with a wry grin. The pale blue button up he wore pulled snugly against his biceps, and his forearms were revealed by the lazily rolled cuffs.

Gansey waved a dismissive hand at Adam. “Bah! Enough of your modesty. From what you told me, you're on the path to national management. That sounds like a promotion to me.”

Adam looked a little sheepish as everyone congratulated him. He kept glancing over at Ronan.

“I bet we can make room for you on the couch if you want to sit.” Gansey was being a little optimistic. The couch was already a snug fit for the three people already sitting there. The only way to fit Adam on there would have been for someone (probably Blue) to sit in someone else’s lap (probably Gansey’s).

Before they got into the logistics of it, Trent slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. “I'm gonna get another beer. Anyone else want one?”

Blue and Gansey shook their heads. They were already drinking some sort of fancy cocktail that was also in theme.

Ronan was so used to being around people that already knew him that he didn't say anything. He’d forgotten Trent had no clue about the sobriety thing. He was looking at Ronan expectantly, waiting for an answer, and so Ronan hurriedly said, “No thanks. I don't drink.”

It was too much to hope that Adam hadn't noticed. And, sure enough, when Ronan looked at Adam out of the corner of his eye, Adam was staring at him like he was a puzzle to solve. Thankfully he didn't ask about it right then. It was already a lot to handle just having Adam there. Ronan didn't know if he could take answering those kinds of questions too.

“Adam? You want one?”

Adam startled, and then said, “Yeah, sure.”

As Trent walked to the kitchen, it was Ronan’s turn to stare. Changes indeed.

Before Trent could return, someone turned on a playlist of something Gansey described as “electro-swing” in the few seconds between the song starting and Blue dragging him to go dance. Ronan took the opportunity to snag their spots on the couch.

Mostly it just seemed to be jazz with slightly heavier bass than was normal. Ronan couldn't necessarily see the appeal, but then again, most party music sounded better with alcohol. 

Trent came back bearing two plastic cups. Adam accepted one of them with a smile that Ronan had to look away from briefly. Whatever he saw between between the two of them, it immediately made Trent say, “I think I'm gonna go mingle. Talk to you later!”

A group of drunk girls had occupied the other end of the couch as soon as Gansey and Blue had left, and were edging closer and closer to Ronan. He stood up before he got a lapful of drunk PhD student. This might have been an example of going out of the frying pan and into the fire, because it left him standing next to Adam. He felt acutely aware of the foot of space between them.

“Hey, Ronan. It’s, uh,” Adam said, with a smile that looked more like a grimace, “it’s been a while.”  _ Five years to be exact.  _

“Yeah. It has,” Ronan said. The words fell awkwardly between them. This was so awkward.

“This is so awkward.” Adam took a sip from the plastic cup, and grimaced. “Ugh. This beer is terrible.”

Ronan knew he was staring at Adam like he’d lost his mind, but this Adam in front of him was so different from the one he’d once known that he felt he was a little justified in his reaction.

Adam caught Ronan’s stare, and then rolled his eyes. “Please. It’s not like your drinking habits are the same either.”

Ronan shrugged. “To each their own, I guess.”

He rolled his water bottle between his hands. He asked cautiously, “So, uh, how does it feel to be back in Virginia?”

Adam looked down into his beer like it could give him the answer. “It’s. Um. Well. It’s...it’s a big change from California, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Speaking of big changes,” Adam said, “when did you grow out your hair?”

“Oh.” That was not the question Ronan was expecting. “It’s been a couple of years, I think.”

Before he could ask why Adam wanted to know, he heard a loud crash, like something shattering. The silence after the crash was followed by Gansey’s voice exclaiming, “Sorry!”

Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think that’s my cue to drive them home. It was nice seeing you again.”

Before Ronan could walk away, Adam snagged his arm. Ronan let himself be stopped.

“Whatever else happened between us, I still miss you as my friend,” Adam said. He looked at Ronan searchingly.

“Me too,” Ronan heard himself say.

Adam reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slipped a little white card from one of the card slots.

Pressing the card into Ronan’s hands, he said, “Text me sometime. I’d love to hear more about what you’ve been up to.”

Before Ronan could say anything else, Adam walked away. Ronan looked down at the card in his hands. In neat little letters, it proclaimed  _ Adam Parrish, Research and Design _ with a phone number and email address typed in smaller letters below.

Ronan thumbed the sharp corner of it, and smiled.

* * *

 

Ronan had the number typed into his phone. 

He typed  _ hey this is ronan _ , and then deleted it.

He looked at the card again. The edges of it were growing fuzzy from how much time Ronan had spent touching it. Ten numbers, their black ink stark on the white cardstock. This felt like a big step, one Ronan wasn’t sure he was ready to take. 

A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Blue’s was fussing at him. He was being a coward. The worst thing that could happen with Adam already had, and so there was really no downside to it. He needed to stop being a weenie and do it.

Ronan held his phone in both hands, and took a deep breath.

_ hey its ronan. _

He pressed send before he could second guess himself, and immediately cringed. Adam was going to think he was so stupid. Could he have been any more awkward?

His phone buzzed.

**_Hey I'm glad you texted me :)_ **

**_Hows it going?_ **

Trying to halt a rising panic, Ronan exhaled. Typed a response. Pressed send.

He could do this.

* * *

 

Texting Adam felt like Ronan was running his fingers along the edge of a blade and trying not to press too hard. The problem was that Ronan had always had a gift for making himself bleed.

He was bad at speaking to people, especially when he wasn't speaking to them face to face. Considering he was an author, it was ridiculous that his words always seemed to fall wrong whenever he sent them off. He spent most of June freaking out about every word he sent to Adam, agonizing over every letter.

It should have gotten easier the longer they texted, but Ronan just felt like he was floundering. They were mostly just chatting back and forth, trying to fill in the blanks of what had happened over the past few years. They had a lot of ground to cover.

Almost against his will, he tried to slip into the last version of himself he could remember Adam loving. It was a version of himself that he hadn't thought about in years. The problem was, he’d outgrown the space he used to fit in. The edges of the puzzle didn't line up anymore. 

He didn't know who Adam wanted him to be, and he didn’t know what to do. So he put his creative writing skills to use, and tried to tell a good story.

They talked about work, and things they’d done and enjoyed, and things they’d done and hated. Adam apparently loved the Mojave desert with a surprising amount of passion. Ronan talked about his not-so-brief foray into watercolors. Adam complained about the politicians he now had to work with. Ronan talked about his garden.

It was great, honestly.

In everything that happened, he’d forgotten--or rather, tried to forget--how good it felt to be friends with Adam. Ronan genuinely liked Adam as a person, even without the messy romantic feelings that come with loving someone.

Maybe they could finally manage to be friends. This was kind of new territory for Ronan, honestly. He’d gone from feeling nothing about Adam to loving him, in the youthful over exuberance that he was glad he’d outgrown. Maybe this time he’d be able to keep himself in check.

Maybe.

* * *

 

The theme of the panel was  _ From Page to Screen _ , and Ronan could feel his inexperience painted on with heavy brushstrokes. All the other authors had dozens of books to their name and a collection of literary award. Now, more than ever, Ronan was painstakingly aware that he was just some kid who got really lucky.

They were all pinned behind a table with an array of microphones. People started to filter in. Most of the people were arrayed in elaborate costumes, but Ronan spotted some jeans and tee shirts in the crowd. He was going to be sick.

“First comic con?”

Ronan looked away from the growing crowd at the woman sitting next to him. She had a bright purple undercut that he was immediately and intensely jealous of. And then he remembered she’d asked a question. “Oh. Yeah.”

“I can tell.” She smirked at him. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“That’s great,” Ronan replied, “because I feel like I’m about to throw up.”

“Hey man, don’t sweat it. You’ll be fine.” She held out a hand. “I’m Marcene Francis, by the way.”

“Ronan Lynch.”

Her eyebrows flicked upwards. “Really? Oh man, I loved  _ Saving Grace _ .”

“Thanks.” He hazarded a smile and said, “I have to say, I hadn’t heard of your work until I knew I was going to be on this panel and I looked you up. You’re very talented. Rose is such a great character. She’s probably my favorite.”

Marcene made a flicking gesture with her hands that Ronan had seen Maura employ on multiple occasions. “Thank you! Rose is definitely my favorite too, but everyone likes Sanders better. I don’t understand it!”

“Yeah, that  _ is _ weird.”

“Personally, I think it’s because Rose is a girl. People always like the boys better, unfortunately,” she said wryly.

Before he could respond, the moderator walked up. He pushed his glasses further up on his face, and said, “Okay folks, this is how it’s gonna go: we’re going to have a little conversation where I’m gonna ask you some questions--don’t worry, I’m not going to put you on the spot or anything--and you’re gonna get to talk about your work. Then, we’re going to open the floor up to questions. After that, I’ll do the wrap up, and we’ll be done.”

“Seriously, it’ll be fine. This is a fairly small panel, and we’re not expecting any huge crowds here,” he said. He looked at Ronan. “Are you okay, dude? You look like you’re about to throw up.”

Ronan pressed his lips together and tried to give off less of a nauseated vibe. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped, because the moderator looked a little dubious as he walked over to his podium. The moderator still went, though, so Ronan considered it a success. 

Marcene nudged him with her elbow and said, “Hey, come talk to me after.”

Ronan nodded, and then settled in his assigned seat.

The panel started relatively painlessly, and so Ronan kind of zoned out. Most of the interest was for Marcene’s work as a comic book writer and artist. Apparently it was unusual to have someone do both, and most of the discussion circled around that. The few questions that pertained to him, Ronan answered quickly, trying not to prolong the experience.

He’d nearly escaped scot-free, when the moderator opened the floor for questions.

The girl who walked up to the microphone was cosplaying from Avatar: the Last Airbender. The only reason Ronan knew this is because Gansey had forced him to watch the entire show several years previously. She spoke too softly for the microphone to pick up, and had to repeat her question to be heard.

“This one is for all of you: What’s your favorite thing you've written?”

Brenda Groff, a woman whose writing Blue has been rabid for since she discovered it on her cross country extravaganza with Gansey and Cheng, was the first to answer. “Probably  _ The Silent Bells _ . When I wrote that book, it was so personally characteristic that it was kind of a joke.”

Tom Weedman, author of  _ Caught in the Crossfire _ and other delightfully action-sounding books, stated his favorite as the second book in his longest running series. This was, of course, the series that was now being turned into a set of movies starring a suitably rugged looking man that Ronan had never heard of prior to doing this panel.

Marcene Francis said that her favorite was the comic book of hers that was turning into a movie, which was met with cheers from the audience. Apparently she’d once known a girl like Rose who’d made such an impression that Marcene had felt the urge to make her a superhero.

And then it was Ronan’s turn, and a flash of panic made him forget everything he’d ever written. He stared at his microphone while he wrestled words into some sort of coherent meaning.

“I, um. I haven't written that many things, actually.  _ Saving Grace _ was sort of my debut novel. So I don't think I actually have enough experience writing things to have a favorite thing yet.”

He glanced up at the girl.

“I can say this though:  _ Saving Grace _ might be the one that got me here, but the one that’s closest to my heart is my upcoming book.” He looked down again, and fiddled with the microphone stand so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with anyone. “I put pieces of myself in all my stories, but that one has more than most. If that makes it my favorite, then I guess it is.”

There were a few more questions, but no one else had anything to say to Ronan. The moderator finished up, and let them all leave. Ronan and Marcene exchanged contact information with the promise of later discussion. Apparently, she thought he had interesting things to say, and he  _ knew  _ she had interesting things to say. It’d been a while since the last time he’d met someone he immediately clicked with, and he definitely wanted to keep in touch.

All in all, he thought, a successful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks!
> 
> Adam is back! Finally! And he's even hotter! He's an aerospace/aeronautics engineer because someone else in this story has to suffer like I do.  
> Marcene should appear later if I can fit her in properly. I also am immensely jealous of her brightly colored undercut.
> 
> Some good news and bad news. I'm going to tell you the bad new first because then you've got something to look forward to.  
> Bad news: This might not be particularly common knowledge, but like, I'm a full time engineering student. And so generally I can only do one project at a time (and kind of slowly at that) since I have to squeeze it in around my classwork (solid mechanics is the devil btw, or at least the russian yoda teaching it is). So I might not be able to keep up the whole "once every week and a half or so" posting schedule that I've been sort of loosely following for a few reasons, like the good news.  
> THE GOOD NEWS: As some of you may or may not have noticed, this is now part of a series. There's nothing finished yet, but keep an eye to the sky for other feathery titled works in upcoming weeks.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are my lifeblood, and sustain me through the harsh Texas winters where the 50 degree winds chill my soul. (I wish that were an exaggeration or a joke but alas, my lizard heart cannot withstand even the slightest chill)  
> If you are but a shy butterfly, feel free to drop me an anon at questionabledivinity on tumblr and I promise I'll be outwardly cool about it (Inwardly I'll be screaming like a girl at a One Direction concert).  
> These notes are getting long but I spent all day reading American Gods in one sitting and now nothing feels real. 
> 
> Tune in next time for lunch dates of all sorts, further introductions to my super cool OCs, and the gift of apples.


	5. August and September, 2022

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: A depressive episode. (There's nothing bad that happens except blankness.)

In mid-August, Ronan got all the way to DC before realizing that Helen had cancelled on him. They were supposed to meet to talk about wedding stuff that he was still completely confounded by. Since he was closer to DC than Blue and Gansey, he ended up playing middleman more often than not.

It wasn’t something he minded too terribly, for the most part. Having to work on wedding stuff was only really a problem on days like today, when he got stuck in the city. Since his appointment with his therapist, Elizabeth, wasn’t for another five hours, Ronan had some time to kill in the city. He pulled out his phone and, with some trepidation, texted Adam.

_ hey. are you busy? _

Ronan sat in the parking lot for a little bit, waiting for Adam’s response.

It came about ten minutes later, in the form of a phone call.

“Hey, Ronan” Adam said. “Is everything okay?”

Ronan wrinkled his nose in confusion. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m in the city and was wondering if you wanted to hang out.”

The phone made a crinkling sound as Adam sighed. “Oh that’s good. I was worried something bad had happened. Yeah, let’s do it. I’m not busy today since I’ve got weekends off.”

“Cool,” Ronan said, “but I’m confused. Why would you think something bad happened?”

“Oh, I guess I’m still used to you only using your phone for emergencies,” Adam said, laughing a little. “But anyway, we could go to the Smithsonian today. I’ve been here a couple months and I still haven’t gotten to go to any of those museums.”

“Sounds great. If you text me your address, I can come pick you up.”

“Will do. See you in a bit,” Adam said, and then hung up. 

Ronan’s phone buzzed a few seconds later, with a text from Adam. He backed his car out of his parking spot, and went to get Adam.

  
  


Less than an hour later, they were standing in front of the Air and Space Museum. Ronan could feel Adam practically vibrating in excitement next to him, and had to crush down a wave of fondness that he had no right to feel. 

They made their way through the metal detectors and entered the museum proper. Overhead, all sorts of planes hung suspended by wires. It was a little surreal to see all of them inside a building. When you think of them, you sort of forget just how big planes are. The museum had hundreds of them. It was a little breathtaking.

Adam was looking at a little paper map he’d gotten when they’d walked in. Hardly looking up from it, he grabbed Ronan’s wrist and said, smiling hugely, “They’ve got Discovery on display.”

That’s how they spent the day: Adam dragging Ronan from exhibit to exhibit, looking at astronaut suits and sharp nosed planes alike. The fact that some of this stuff had actually gone to space was a bit incomprehensible. There was so much stuff in the museum that Ronan’s head spun a little bit. 

Among all the stuff, there was even a Star Trek section of the museum. It was the only section of the museum where Ronan actually recognized things. Gansey was a big fan of the original show, and Ronan had picked up some knowledge of it in self defense. 

Mostly though, Ronan just watched Adam. There was something beautiful about the way his eyes lit up in excitement. He explained about how the work he did now stemmed from this plane, or that spacecraft. It seemed like Adam didn’t stop smiling in the entire time they were there. Ronan felt himself smile in response, like a flower turning towards the sun. 

His traitorous heart thudded wildly, and he thought to himself,  _ Shit _ .

Immediately, Ronan stopped smiling. He let Adam lead him through the rest of the museum, but he was in a daze. Adam’s smiles grew a little less excited, so Ronan figured he could tell.

“We should probably head out,” Adam said.

Ronan nodded. The two of them went back out to the car, and Ronan drove Adam home. Tired silence saturated the car ride. Not even the radio could pierce it.

“Thanks for going to the museum with me, Ronan. I had a lot of fun.”

There was an awkward pause where Ronan felt like they should be doing something, but couldn’t figure out what. Finally, Adam reached out to gently punch Ronan in the shoulder. 

“See you later, Ronan.”

Ronan smiled thinly. “Bye, Parrish.”

The car door slammed as Adam went back up to his apartment. There was no one in the car to hear him but himself, so Ronan said, “I am so fucked.”

* * *

 

In early September, Ronan received a box that seemed heavy for its size. Inside were his author copies of his new book. The smell of fresh paper was intoxicating. He ran his fingers over the foiled lettering of the title. On the pale grey of the bottom of the cover, his name stood out in sturdy looking black letters.

One of the books found its home next to his author copy of  _ Saving Grace _ . The shelf was empty except for those two books. Ronan’s fingertips itched briefly with an urge to fill the rest of the shelf. He smiled slightly. Soon enough.

With one glance glance at his mostly empty shelf, Ronan grabbed his jacket and checked his pockets for his car keys. He texted Deborah.

_ up for lunch? your art child just arrived _

Almost immediately, Deborah responded. 

**_hell yeah_ **

Smiling, Ronan got into his car with two copies of his book tucked under his arm and drove into town.

The Singer’s Falls post office was a tiny thing. It could only hold ten people at a time, including the clerk behind the counter. Ronan grabbed a box from the wire frame that held him, and went up to the desk.

“Hey there, hon,” said the lady behind the counter. She smelled like powdery perfume and age.  _ Edna _ said her name tag.

“Hi.” Ronan made an attempt at smiling, but it felt weird so he aborted the effort quickly. He set the box on the counter and started to make it box-shaped. 

Edna handed him a roll of tape.

“Thanks.”

He taped the bottom, put the book in, and then taped the top.

Edna looked at him over her glasses, “You need a label?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He painstakingly wrote Blue’s address on the label. Ronan was always a little afraid that he was going to mess it up and accidentally send his parcel to a vague and threatening Elsewhere, and so he ended up checking the address a million times, even if he knew it by heart.

Edna weighed the box, and told him the cost of it. After he paid, she stuck the postage label on the corner of the box. 

“Have a good day, hon.”

“You too, ma’am.”

He stepped out of the post office and into the sun.

On his way to Deborah’s house, he stopped at the Thai food place he and Deborah both liked. It had sprung up in downtown a few years ago, when the Srsati family moved into town. He still wasn’t sure how they ended up in rural Virginia, but they were all so nice that he was glad they had.

Massaman and green curries in hand, he made his way over to Deborah’s house. Since its occupants included a rambunctious second grader, an eccentric thirty-something artist, and a sixty year old with a tendency for hoarding, the small two story house existed in a perpetual state of mild chaos. He walked up the driveway, and had to step over a pink Barbie scooter laying across the path.

When he knocked on the front door, Deborah answered. She was wearing ratty jeans and shirt with a stretched out neckline. There was a smear of green paint across her forehead that meant she’d already been working today.

“Hey Ronan! I think the living room is clear, if you wanna bring the food there.”

He followed her into the living room and sat down on the floral couch. The bags of food went on the coffee table and the book stayed in his hand. Deborah sat next to him, one leg curled beneath her.

“Now,” she said to him, holding out a hand. “Let me see my baby.”

Ronan laid the spine of the book in her open palm. She immediately went to look at the front cover. Deborah ran her fingers over the print of her painting and said, “I like the font they picked. It matches the mood I was going for in the painting.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

Deborah looked at him cannily. “Speaking of which, I have something for you, too.”

She stood up and walked down the hall. Ronan shifted uncomfortably on the couch, unsure whether or not he was supposed to follow her. Just as he was about to stand up, Deborah came back, a rectangular parcel tucked under her arm. She handed it to him.

It was lighter in his hands than he was expecting, which led Ronan to suspect it was a painting. Ronan squinted at her. Deborah tried to look innocent, but she ended up looking slightly impish regardless.

“Go on,” she said. “Open it.”

The painting was the original version of the book cover. It was even more vibrant and stunning in real life than any print could have managed.

“Deb, I can’t take this,” Ronan said.

“Don’t be stupid. You can and you will.”

Ronan made a pained face.

“Don’t you argue with me,” she said. “I’ve seen the way you look at it. Every artist dreams of getting that kind of reaction out of their work. You’re going to end up appreciating it better than anyone else, so I might as well give it to you.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but Deborah cut him off. “And don’t offer me money; it’s a gift. Take it and say thank you.”

“Thanks, Deb.”

“Damn straight,” she said. Pausing with a smirk, she slyly continued, “well, sort of.”

Ronan rolled his eyes and shoved her arm. “Wow. Never heard  _ that  _ one before.”

Deborah cackled. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah,” Ronan said. It came out more serious than he thought it would. “Yeah, I do.”

* * *

 

On September 13, Ronan’s book was officially released, and nothing happened.

It was a heavy day.

The sky was overcast, the color of old concrete, and the wind was cold. Ronan couldn't bring himself to climb out of bed for most of the day. He smelled like sleep sweat and apathy.

He’d slept for hours and was still so tired.

Ronan ended up laying down doing nothing. His mind was too scattered to even think about reading or writing anything, and all the music he tried to listen to grated. After receiving several phone calls, Ronan turned off his phone; talking was hard enough on good days.

The light had a timeless quality that left Ronan unmoored, unaware of the passage of time.

Sometime in the early afternoon, Opal came into his room. She was carrying two apples, each of them wrapped in their own paper towel. The first one she kept for herself. The second she held out to Ronan.

He held it in his hands for a moment, just staring at it. Opal glared at him until he lifted it to his lips and took a bite. The moment the sweet juice filled his mouth, Ronan’s stomach remembered that he hadn't eaten all day.

Ravenously, he devoured the entire apple in minutes. Opal sat at the end of his bed looking smug as she ate through her own apple. 

“Thanks,” he said to Opal. 

She nodded solemnly. 

Holding the apple core in one hand, Ronan heaved himself out of bed, determined to wash off the smell of sweat. His muscles ached, which was ridiculous since he’d done nothing all day. He made his way to the bathroom, stripped, and stepped into the shower. It was hot enough that steam billowed out above the top of the shower curtain. He let the hot water work at the tightness in his shoulders. It was relaxing. Ronan breathed easier in this thick and steamy air than he had been all day. 

Even after he was clean, he just stood there and let the water run over him for a while. 

Steam billowed in the room even after Ronan had turned off the water. He wrapped himself in the fluffiest towel he owned, and went in search of clean clothes.

After pulling on boxers and a pair of sweatpants, Ronan finally turned his phone back on. Immediately, texts and missed calls came flooding in. Most of them were from Gansey.

Even with years and years between Ronan and his bleeding wrists, Gansey still worried whenever he couldn't get ahold of Ronan. It always caused a pang of guilt whenever Gansey panicked about Ronan’s well being.

He didn't feel up to reading all of Gansey’s texts, so he just sent  _ I'm fine _ . He also sent a text to Elizabeth to set up an extra session later that week.

Ronan wasn't fine. And at this point, he wasn't ever sure he ever would be totally fine. But he was getting better, and that made all the difference in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all happy March!
> 
> The universe decided that mid-February was a time to punch me in the face, and so subsequently, a bunch of things took a hit. Also, I have a bunch of midterms this week and next, so don't expect the next update until sometime around March 13-15 (that's when spring break is for me).
> 
> I'm working on a prequel a little, so we'll see if anything comes out of that. Hopefully yes, and hopefully it will not end up as long as even birds fly home.
> 
> Since I decided that apparently I am not busy enough as an engineering student, I think I'm gonna try to join a creative writing program at my university that will hopefully let me take some classes. We'll see. I'm talking to my adviser tomorrow to see what she has to say about all that. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I'm on tumblr at questionabledivinity if you wanna chat there. Adieu for now, my dears!


	6. October and November, 2022

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry it's been ages. However, this is also the longest chapter in the fic thus far
> 
> CW for the chapter: Ronan talks about being a suicidal teenager at one point. (I don't think it's bad, but I'm warning for it just in case)

Ronan spent the rest of September and October on a book tour. The early stops were fairly normal. Most of the questions were about _Saving Grace_ and those were questions he could answer. It wasn't hard to talk about that book at all.

The problems--if they could even be called problems--started happening around the second week of October. His book had been out for just shy of a month, and word of mouth was proving to be a formidable force. The crowds at his events grew accordingly. It was probably a good thing for his career, but it meant that Ronan had to speak in front of larger and more eager crowds at each new event.

Which was, he discovered, really fucking intimidating. Ronan had no illusions about the demographics of his readers, but it was still a little strange to walk into a room packed to the brim with teenage girls. The readers who showed up to these kinds of events were the ones with burning questions, the ones who really made him think before he spoke. He couldn’t help but worry he was going to fuck up so badly that he’d be ridiculed for the rest of his life.

It hadn’t happened yet, but there was always the chance that today would be that day.

He got to the bookstore about half an hour early. Store employees were doing some last minute set-up, but there were already people sitting in the rows of chairs in front of the place he’d be speaking. One of the book store employees caught sight of him, and let him into the staff room. It was small, with a beat up old couch taking up one whole wall. A microwave and mini fridge took up another wall.

“You’re a little early, Mr. Lynch, so you can wait here until it’s time if you like.”

Ronan nodded. He sat on the couch with his elbows perched on his knees. He had a spiel that he always said at these sort of events, and so he reviewed it in his head while he took deep breaths.

Before he knew it, he was being led back over to the book signing area. One of the employees was explaining to the audience how the event was going to go. They were just finishing up as he walked over, and so he took a brief moment to look at the crowd. Some of them were already looking over at him.

The crowd clapped as he walked out. He’d been handed a microphone, and he checked the switch on the side to make sure it was turned on.

“Hi. I’m Ronan Lynch, and I’m here to talk to y’all about my newest book.” He took a shaky breath and managed a smile. “If I look nervous, that’s because I am.”

That got a titter of laughter from the audience, and Ronan relaxed a little.

Ronan breezed through his talk on complete autopilot. There was something to be said for practicing a lot, and he had Gansey to thank for making him rehearse over and over again before he even went on tour.

“So if anyone’s got any questions, I can answer those now.”

For a moment, no one did anything. The audience looked around at each other, until a girl raised her hand.

Ronan pointed at her, and she stood up to ask her question.

“Is your book based on real life experiences?”

Ronan’s stomach flipped in an instinctive panic. “Um. Well. Yes, actually.”

He could feel the audience’s expectant eyes on him, waiting for the rest of the story. He picked up his water bottle and took a sip to stall. He cleared his throat and said, “I try to write from a place of genuine emotions, and so a lot of the things I write about either really happened or drew inspiration from something that really happened. I think it’s a better way to write stories.”

“Next question?”

A couple of hands went up, and Ronan pointed to one at random.

The next person stood up. “This might be a personal question, so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Your characters seem really confident and comfortable in their sexualities. This wasn’t really my experience with coming out, and I was wondering if you were that comfortable when you were a teenager.”

Ronan’s stomach dropped into the floor as he hissed a breath through his teeth. “Man, y’all aren’t pulling any punches today.” The question asker looked concerned, like they thought they’d offended him or something. “I mean, I’ll talk about it, but I need a moment to find the right words.”

Thinking back to seventeen and uncertainty made him crave strong liquor and the feeling of leather between his teeth. He consciously unclenched his hand from where he’d curled it into a nervous fist.

“If I seem confident in myself, that’s because I’ve had nearly a decade and countless therapy sessions between then and now,” he began hesitantly. “My teen years were...difficult. There were a number of factors, and my sexuality was only part of it.

“Was I comfortable in my sexuality at age seventeen? Absolutely not. I spent at least a year of my life alternately trying to feel something and trying to numb everything. I remember only two things from that year: feeling afraid all the time and wanting to die.”

Ronan bit his lip nervously. “Again, my sexuality was only a part of the overall problems I was having that year, but feeling guilty about something I couldn’t control was definitely no cakewalk. It wasn’t really until I had an honest-to-god life threatening experience that I realized that I wasn’t ready to go gently into that good night, to steal a quote from Dylan Thomas.

“I guess I kind of gave my characters the easy acceptance I wish I’d had. There are so many stories where the queer characters suffer crippling self doubt, and I didn’t really want to make this book about the struggle for self acceptance. While those stories are important--and necessary representation--I’m not really interested in telling those kinds of stories. I’m always more interested in telling people about the stuff that comes after acceptance: the living.

“Sorry if this is more of an answer than you’re looking for, but I’ve made a policy to be honest about this topic when it comes up. It’s important to discuss mental health and its intersection with sexuality frankly. If someone else can benefit from the knowledge I gained from what was quite literally the worst years of my life, then it’s worth it.

“So yeah,” Ronan said. “Any more questions?”

The rest of the questions are mostly innocuous, seemingly cowed by the earlier questions, and so Ronan didn’t hesitate to answer them. Finally, time was up and he went to signing books. The line snaked around the store, and Ronan’s wrist started preemptively aching at the idea of signing all those books.

He had a row of brand new Sharpies next to his left hand. He hated using pens and markers, since they inevitably smeared all over the side of his hand, but they’re the only option he’s got. Ronan shifted around in the folding chair, trying to get comfortable for the grueling ordeal of the next couple hours.

The first person shyly put their books on the table; they’d brought their copy of _Saving Grace_ in addition to the new book they’d bought at the store. Ronan pulled the small pile towards him with a smile that felt forced even to himself.

“I love your books,” she told him as he scrawled his signature on the title page of each of the books.

“I’m glad,” Ronan replied, but the girl was already being whisked away so the next person in line could approach him.

After that, it was only vague impressions of names and faces. Some people wanted selfies, some people wanted to chat, and everyone was really excited to meet him.

That was the part that always felt so weird about these things; not necessarily the fact that people liked his books, but that they were willing to wait a long time or travel long distances just to see him.

People gave him slips of paper with song recommendations and drawings and all the signs of caring. One person even walked up to the table wearing a shirt that they told him was inspired by _Saving Grace_. It was probably one of the most badass things Ronan had ever seen, and so he made sure to get a picture of it.

He blinked, and then it was over. At the direction of the staff, Ronan left, walking towards his BMW where he’d parked it in the back corner of the parking lot. Authors weren’t necessarily the type to have the truly rabid fans, but Ronan still made sure no one was creeping up on him as he got into his car and drove to his hotel.

 

Hotel rooms always had a weird smell to them, like plastic and liminality. The door to his room slammed shut behind him. The only things Ronan had really brought with him for this book tour were clothes and books. They were all the most comfortable things he owned. Something about the disconnectedness of travel always made Ronan ache for the barest hint of the familiar. It was easier now that he could carry it with him.

Book in hand, Ronan peeled back the slightly tacky comforter so that he could sit on the sheets beneath them. The sheets usually felt less unclean than the bedspread, like washing the sheets could stop the reminder that someone else had slept in this bed the night before.

Even if the room was less than ideal, it was away from other people--a fact that made it practically luxurious. Ronan could walk the walk and talk the talk just fine, but at the end of the day, having to interact with other human beings was completely draining. This moment made it all worth it: the moment where he could put away his charming smile and read a book in bed.

 

* * *

 

At the end of October, Ronan quietly turned twenty-six. Since his book tour ended in New York, he spent the weekend in the city with Blue and Gansey, crashing on the lumpy green couch in the main room of their tiny apartment.

Since Blue had work on Saturday, Gansey took Ronan on a whirlwind adventure in the city. It was nice to spend time with his best friend. Ronan had forgotten just how much he genuinely liked being around Gansey. Theirs was a friendship built on comfortable silences and easy camaraderie.

It was not quite winter yet, here in the city. It seemed like the glass and metal walls of the buildings in downtown had trapped summer a little longer on the streets. Even so, the wind held a bite to it that was a promise of the frost to come.

The chill of it felt good in Ronan’s lungs as he and Gansey walked down the sidewalks of the city. He always felt more awake when the seasons changed than at any other time.

About halfway into their walk, Gansey pulled Ronan into a coffee shop called _Bean There, Done That_. Gansey’s insomnia had mostly ended in high school, after everything that had happened. As a grad student, though, he still tended to survive in a state of mild sleep deprivation and more-than-mild caffeination. These days, Ronan tried as a general rule to avoid any potentially habit forming substances. When it was their turn to order, he got himself a hot chocolate at Gansey’s recommendation. Gripping the cup by the cardboard sleeve, Ronan followed Gansey back out the door.

They walked a little further, and into a little park a couple of blocks over. Gansey obviously wanted to say something to him, so Ronan let him figure out what he was going to say in peace. Being in the city was always a weird experience. It was so much greyer than he was used to, even in the park. The sound of cars followed them everywhere they went, like an unwanted specter.

He would be glad to be home again soon, even as much as he loved being around Gansey. Like Ronan’s thoughts had finally pulled the words out of him, Gansey glanced over at Ronan and cleared his throat.

“So,” Gansey said. “How are you?”

Someone a little ways away was smoking, and the smell of it made Ronan wrinkle his nose. “I’m honestly glad to be done with this book tour and go back home. It’s been great, but I’m sort of tired of it all by now.”

“Oh! That’s...good.” Gansey fidgeted with his glasses and wouldn’t look at Ronan when he continued, “But I actually meant--you know--with Adam.”

“Oh.” Ronan held the paper cup in both hands. The chocolate was thick and creamy in a way that clung to the back of his throat and burned in his chest. He felt his face flush. “We’ve, ah, been texting again. Had lunch a couple of times. Went to a museum once.”

Gansey’s face was stuck in an expression halfway between concern and constipation. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Ronan? Getting _involved_ again?”

After a split second of hesitation, Gansey barreled on and said, “I remember how torn up you were the first time you two broke up. I don’t think I really need to tell you just how bad of an idea getting back with your ex is.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Like you know anything about having an ex, Mr. I’ve-been-dating-the-same-person-since-high-school.”

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re going to be careful about it, okay? I know how you get when you really like someone, and we all know you have a blind spot when it comes to Adam.”

Ronan had to take a moment to look up at the sky for some patience. “Jesus Christ, Gansey. I'm just texting him. I’m not dating him, and I’m not fucking him. We’re just trying to be friends again. Trust me, I know it’s a bad idea. Okay? Give me some credit.”

Now Gansey brought out the big guns: his skeptical eyebrows. He didn't argue it further, but he made it clear he didn't believe Ronan. Gansey said instead, “Seriously, though. Are you okay with all this?”

“Well, I’ve definitely been worse.”

Gansey looked at him, stricken.

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Really, I’m fine. I mean, I’m not going to lie, it sucks sometimes. But I can definitely handle it.”

Gansey still looked sceptical. Ronan sighed and flung an arm over Gansey’s shoulders.

“Look, Gansey. I appreciate your concern, but I’m in a better place than I was the last time this sort of thing happened.” Ronan hesitated, and then continued, “If it’ll make you feel better about it, I can promise to tell you if I need you to run interference.”

Under his arm, Gansey’s shoulders relaxed.

“That would be good,” Gansey said, pushing up his glasses. “I’m sorry for bugging you about it, but you know I worry about you.”

Ronan grinned at him. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

Before Gansey could say something even more embarrassingly earnest, Ronan messed up his hair and then pushed his head away. While Gansey was squawking indignantly and trying to fix his hair, Ronan just laughed.

 

* * *

 

He drove up to DC for Thanksgiving, since it was Declan’s turn to host it this year. That was the one good thing about their family: they all settled in Virginia and so were no more than a three hour drive from each other at any given point.

He’d brought along a cranberry crumble wrapped in aluminum foil. Declan had told him he didn’t have to bring anything, but after so many holiday dinners at 300 Fox Way, it felt weird not to. Besides, it’s not like a dessert would go uneaten—not with Matthew’s sweet tooth and Opal’s _everything_ tooth.

Opal was laying in the backseat behind him. About fifteen minutes into the drive, she’d fallen asleep. The only station playing any sort of good music was the one that played Christmas music year-round. Ronan had it thrumming lowly in the background, the crackling records crooning about snow on Christmas.

Declan lived in a townhouse in one of the suburbs of DC, rather than in the city proper. He and Sarah had bought it together once they’d gotten married two years ago. Ronan thought that it was a very Declan sort of place: a little soulless, but enormously practical.

He parked in the driveway behind Declan’s silver Volvo. He turned to wake up Opal, but the sound of the engine stopping already had her stirring. Ronan made sure she was wearing her coat, even for the short walk between the driveway and the front door. She ran ahead of him to ring the doorbell.

Almost immediately, Declan opened the door with a smile. He was wearing his version of casual clothes--a worn button-down and a pair of jeans. If Ronan didn’t know that Declan had no idea what casual actually meant, he might have felt a little underdressed for the occasion. He hugged Declan, and then he kicked off his shoes next to the canvas shoes he knew were Matthew’s, and helped Opal with her coat and boots.

Ronan hung his and Opal’s coats on empty hangers left in the hall closet for them. Opal had already managed to convince Declan to pick her up, and so he was carrying her into the living room. Ronan followed a step or two behind them.

Sarah, Matthew, and Matthew’s girlfriend Emily were all sitting on the couch watching football. If Ronan had felt underdressed seeing Declan, then the sight of the rest of them was a comfort. Matthew and Emily were both wearing sweatpants and sweaters. Sarah was wearing a dress, but Ronan figured that was more of a pregnancy thing than a fashion thing based on what he knew about her.

“The ham should be done in half an hour,” Declan told him. He’d set Opal on the couch next to Sarah so he could go back into the kitchen.

Ronan looked at how Opal curled into Sarah’s side, and then followed Declan into the kitchen to deposit his cranberry crumble on the table. There were several side dishes lingering in pots on the stove and perched on trivets on the counter.

It smelled like memory. Ronan remembers his mom and dad dancing past each other in the kitchen as they worked on the meal. Seeing Declan alone in the kitchen was more jarring than he’d expected it to be.

“Need any help?” Ronan asked, just to say something.

Declan smiled the ghost of a smile. “No, I’ve got it. You can just wait in the living room.”

Ronan sighed. “If it’s alright with you, I’m going to stay in here, actually.”

His brother shrugged. “Sure.”

The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes. Finally, Declan said, “If you’re just going to stand there, at least make yourself useful. Help me carry this stuff to the table.”

Each of them laden with dishes, they brought the food to the table. The table was obviously not meant for more than four people, but Declan and Sarah had managed to wedge six chairs around the edges of it.

Just as Declan called everyone to the table, the oven beeped. Since Declan still had his hands full, Ronan went into the kitchen to stop the beeping. Declan had left both oven mitts and meat thermometer right next to the oven, so Ronan opened up the oven to see if the ham was done.

Once he’d confirmed that it was done cooking, he went ahead and set it on the now cleared stovetop. Declan walked back into the kitchen just as Ronan was turning off the oven. He gave Ronan a mildly impressed nod, and Ronan had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

As they all settled down around the table, bumping elbows and knees, Matthew began  to lead the prayer. He crosses himself as he said, “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Matthew looked up from his folded hands, and said, “Okay, now we have to hold hands and say what we’re thankful for. I’ll start: I’m thankful that we’re all here together.”

“Aw man! Mine’s going to sound super shallow now,” Emily said, “because I’m thankful that Professor Zhou didn’t assign homework over the break.”

Matthew laughs. “Same.”

Declan was next in the circle, and so they all stared at him. “I’m thankful for Sarah,” he said, kissing the back of her hand.

Sarah grinned. “I’m thankful my pregnancy is going well, and that I’m not the size of a blimp yet.”

Opal wasn’t paying attention, and so Ronan squeezed her hand to let her know it was her turn. She looked up, startled, and said, “I like smooth stones.”

When it got to him, Ronan had a moment where he forgot every word he knew. “I guess I’m thankful that things are better now.”

It was not enough and it was too much.

“Me too,” Declan said. He was staring at Ronan with a serious look on his face, like he knew all the things Ronan was trying to say.

The table was quiet for a moment. Everyone dug into the food for something to do.

But Thanksgiving shouldn’t be a time for silence. He swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes, and then said, “Hey Declan, do you remember that time you convinced me that vegetables were poisonous and I didn’t eat any for two weeks?”

Declan stilled, startled. The corner of his mouth quirked up a little. “Yeah. Mom got so mad at me that she made me muck out the cow barn by myself for a month. But that’s nothing on the time I managed to blame you for eating those cookies mom made for the school bake sale.”

“That was you?” Ronan shook his head and laughed. “I always thought it was Matthew.”

“Hey!” said Matthew. “I resent that!”

They spent the next couple of hours reminiscing about their childhood. It was a little hard to believe that they’d been so at odds with each other just a few years ago, but it seems like time and maturity really could fix most sibling feuds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So between the last update and now, I had midterms, Spring Break, and a host of emotionally draining Things happen to me. All of these made it difficult to write. Sorry about that.  
> For more personal news, because this is my fic and I can do that: I got accepted into the creative writing certificate program i applied for, and so i'm gonna be taking a creative writing class in addition to her engineering classes next semester.
> 
> On the plus side, chapter 7 is probably about halfway done so far, and so barring any unforeseen circumstances I should have that done at some point in the next two weeks.  
> Also on the plus side, the emotionally draining Things might properly spawn the prequel fic, but we will have to see about my emotional state, motivation, etc etc.
> 
> This chapter was a little thin on Adam, I know, but if it is any consolation, he will majorly feature in the next chapter.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments sustain me. Let me know what you think, either here, on tumblr (@questionabledivinity), or on twitter (@coslyons)


	7. December 2022

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♫ _I'll be home for Christmas_ ♫

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever, but solid mechanics was sapping my will to carry on.
> 
> As consolation, this is the longest chapter yet, and Adam features prominently ;)
> 
> Additionally, I recommend you listen to the Rascal Flatts version of "I'll be home for Chrismas" as you read this chapter

The winter air smelled metallic, like a storm.

Ronan stood on the front porch and let the icy air burn in his lungs as he waited for Deb’s car to come up the drive. This year, they were having Christmas at the Barns. Everyone he knew was coming, old and new. Even Henry was stopping by for the festivities. Declan, Sarah, and Matthew had arrived last night.

There hadn’t been this many people up at the Barns in years. Certainly not since he’d done the renovations and certainly not all at once. Suffice to say, Ronan was a bit overwhelmed. He loved every one of them, but he spent so much time by himself that he was a little nervous he’d forgotten how to be around other people. 

Deborah’s clunker struggled its way up to the house. The engine spluttered and wheezed as she parked it next to Declan’s Volvo on the gravel. Ronan bit down on a smile at the juxtaposition of the shiny grey of Declan’s car with the patchwork paint of Deborah’s car. The car door creaked loudly as Deborah got out.

“Come help me haul in stuff,” she called to him.

When he walked over, he found his arms filled with a tray of green cookies that were presumably supposed to be Christmas tree shaped. Before he could say anything about it, Deborah pointed at him with a glare. 

“Not one word,” she said, eyes narrowed.

Ronan shrugged but couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Deborah glared at him for a moment longer, and then she started laughing too. She said, “Yeah, they are kind of sad looking.”

They walked into the house, and into the kitchen. Ronan had the oven running, so the kitchen was warm and cosy. He set the cookies down on the island and went to check on the potatoes. 

Declan peeked into the kitchen from the living room. He was wearing the truly horrendous sweater that Ronan had given him two years ago as a joke. Despite the horrible color and fit of it, Declan genuinely seemed to like it, and wore it at every possible opportunity. 

“Hey Deborah,” Declan said.

“Declan!” Deborah walked over and hugged him hello. “Where is your wife, the true love of my life?”

Sarah poked her head in. “Deb’s here?”

Deborah’s eyes bugged out of her head, as she walked over to Sarah and placed a hand on the bump that was going to be Caleb Lynch in a couple of weeks. “Holy shit, you’re huge!”

In the midst of all the exclamations and congratulations, Ronan heard the deep rumble of a Camaro. Considering the frosty weather, it was probably Beans. The Pig never did too well with anything that could be described as “adverse conditions”. 

The engine cut off as he made his way to the door. By the time he got outside, Blue had the hood popped and was rummaging through the bags they were storing in the empty space where the engine should have gone. Gansey already had an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. 

Blue glanced over and saw Ronan. “No, don’t come over here! I’m getting a thing for you. Don’t look!”

Laughing, Ronan obligingly put a hand over his eyes. “You’re going to have to escort me back to the door, Gansey. Your lady love wished me blinded, and I must oblige.”

Gansey’s eye roll was practically audible. “Why are all the people I love so dramatic all the time, I swear to God.”

“Gansey, you are wearing a bright orange sweater. You have no room to talk.” Blue’s hands were so cold on his arm that Ronan could feel them through his hoodie.

“I will have you know that it is not orange. It is  _ salmon _ .”

Ronan felt the rush of hot air over his body as they walked inside. As soon as they were through the door, Blue darted away. He could hear her thundering up the stairs to the guest bedroom. As soon as Ronan was sure Blue wouldn’t fuss at him anymore, he opened his eyes.

Gansey’s sweater was just as orange as Blue made it out to be. 

“That sweater is totally orange, Gansey. I’m gay, and I say it’s orange.”

Gansey made a sour face. “Shut up. Just ‘cause you’re gay doesn’t mean you have a sense of style.”

Ronan laughed. “Just ‘cause you’re getting all high and mighty about your orange sweater doesn’t mean you do either.”

He dodged the swat Gansey aimed at him. Ronan raised up his hands in surrender. 

“Look,” Ronan said, “I’ve still got the cranberry relish to make, but feel free to hang out in the living room and do whatever. We’ve got games and movies and stuff.”

Gansey huffed. “I suppose I can entertain myself, if pressed.”

“‘Atta boy.” Ronan ruffled Gansey’s hair, and went back to the kitchen.

His phone was resting in the cradle of the set of speakers Declan had given him last month, gently spitting out some classic Christmas songs. The sound of Bing Crosby’s crooning filled the kitchen, and Ronan got out all the stuff he’d need to make the cranberry relish.

Ronan was about halfway done peeling the oranges for the relish when he heard the front door open and then close again from his post in the kitchen. It was probably Henry. His hands were messy with fruit innards, so he decided to just let him do whatever.

“Hey, Henry,” Ronan said, not looking up from the oranges. “Everyone else is in the living room.”

“Oh,” said Adam’s voice, and Ronan whipped his head up. “I thought Henry told you I was coming.”

Ronan swallowed his surprise, and tried to find words to say. “Must have slipped his mind, I guess.”

Adam smiled and shrugged awkwardly. “Henry is a little forgetful, I guess.” He paused, and then said, “I can leave if you — ”

“No!” Ronan had to pause to stop himself from yelling. “No. You can stay.”

Relief was immediately apparent on Adam’s face, and Ronan felt a twinge of annoyance. “Come on, Parrish. Did you really think I’d send you back out into the snow?”

Adam’s brief hesitation was answer enough. 

Ronan tried not to sound as exasperated as he felt. “Everyone else is in the living room. I think Gansey is slaughtering them all in Trivial Pursuit.”

Adam laughed. “I didn't think anyone played that game with him anymore.”

“Sarah’s only met him twice and Deb’s never played against him, so he’s taking advantage of his unwitting victims.”

Just then, Gansey burst into the kitchen. He pointed an accusatory finger at Ronan. “You didn't tell me your sister-in-law works on encyclopedias.”

Ronan grinned smugly. “You lost, didn't you?”

Gansey spluttered. “That is irrelevant!”

“Sounds pretty relevant to me,” Adam said.

Gansey whipped around. “Adam! I didn't know you were going to be here.”

“Yeah, I'm getting that impression,” Adam said wryly. “Henry was supposed to give you guys a heads up, but you know how he is.”

“I would tell you not to slander the dear companion of my soul, but he really is like that,” Gansey said.

“Hey, not to cut this heart-warming conversation short,” Ronan said, “but I really do need to finish the cranberry relish. You guys go ahead and head back into the living room to keep talking so that I can run the food processor.”

The kitchen felt empty as Gansey and Adam walked away. Ronan heard Blue’s cry of delight before he snapped the lid on the food processor and started to whir the chunks of fruit inside it until it was mostly the same mushy texture.

Ronan poured the cranberry relish into a bowl and put the dirty dishes in the sink to deal with later. After washing his hands, he went into the living room.

Apparently the game had moved on from Trivial Pursuit to Clue, and Gansey, Blue, Matthew, Deb, Declan, and Sarah were all eyeing each other suspiciously.

In the corner of the room, away from everyone else, Adam was inspecting a painting on the wall. He looked embarrassed when Ronan accidentally caught his eyes. He pointed to the framed watercolor on the wall, and said to Ronan, “I like the painting.”

Ronan looked at it. He’d done that one last year, on a perfect day in late June when the shady creekside felt just a bit like heaven. The painting somehow had captured the serenity of that moment, and he was still proud of it. “Thanks.”

“Where did you get it?”

“From myself,” Ronan said. “I’m the one who painted it.”

Adam blinked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know you could paint.”

Ronan shrugged. “Deb taught me a couple of years ago. It’s something relaxing that I like to do every now and then.”

They stood there in silence for a little while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Ronan just watched Adam’s profile as he looked at the painting. Eventually, Ronan cleared his throat and said, “Want a tour of the house? I’ve done some work since the last time you were here.”

Adam turned to smile at Ronan. “Sure.”

Ronan walked upstairs. He refused to show Adam his bedroom, despite how much work he’d done on it. The very walls of it were steeped in memories of the two of them, together.

Instead he lead Adam down the hall to the room that used to be a playroom.

The room was made of bookshelves, all of them packed tight with Ronan’s books. Under the wide spread of the window, Ronan had added a daybed, and it was covered in soft blankets and pillows. In the corner, Ronan’s laptop sat perched on the desk. He was a little embarrassed by the messiness of all the loose paper and the explosion of brightly colored sticky notes all around it.

Adam looked at Ronan, impressed. “Jesus, if you’ve done that much work here, the work in the master bedroom must have been insane.”

“I actually turned that room into a guest room,” Ronan said.

Adam’s brows furrowed. “Wait. You mean you're not still in the master bedroom?”

Ronan bit his lip and said, “Nah. It felt too big for a while there, and I just never moved back in.”

Adam looked briefly pained. In a fit of masochism, Ronan continued, “But you know better than most people how some places are full of ghosts.”

He was spared from having to endure the rest of the conversation by the sound of the doorbell. Declan was already opening the front door by the time he made it downstairs. Henry Cheng stood in the doorway, clutching his coat around himself and holding a bottle of wine.

“A little birdy told me there was going to be a shindig at the Lynch house,” he said with a smirk. 

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Henry. I’m the one who invited you.”

“Don’t ruin my dramatic entrance, Lynch,” Henry said, exasperated. “I like having a mysterious and rakish aura.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Ronan nodded towards the kitchen. “Now that you’re here, we can all eat.”

“I am touched — simply  _ moved _ , that you guys waited for me,” Henry said, handing off the bottle of wine and taking off his coat with a flourish.

Ronan rolled his eyes, and walked back through the kitchen. He poked his head into the living room where Blue and Matthew were wrestling over a spoon and said, “Hey if you want food, come and get it.”

Matthew immediately jumped up, and Blue made a triumphant noise as she held her spoon aloft.

“Does it count if Matthew gave up?” asked Gansey.

“It most certainly does,” said Blue smugly.

* * *

 

After dinner, when Matt, Declan, and Sarah left to go back to DC and Deborah went to spend the  evening with her family, the rest of them moved to the living room. They were sprawled across pillows and blankets strewn across the floor, drinking the red wine Henry brought, and catching up.

Ronan was wearing the bright pink beanie Blue had knit for him and was subsequently getting shit for it. He accepted it all magnanimously. Truth be told, Ronan had missed the good natured ribbing he always got from his friends. The teasing felt well worn and timeless.

After a little while, Blue was flushed and more than a little drunk on red wine when she pointed an accusing finger at him and said, “You act so tough, Ronan Lynch, but I've seen the way your flowers love you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Henry said. “Lynch grows flowers?”

“Yup,” Ronan said, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. He grabbed another one of Deb’s cookies before he came back down to sit. “I’ve got an entire greenhouse full of orchids.”

Henry goggled at him. “Holy shit. Are they, like,  _ dream _ orchids?”

Ronan laughed. “Nah. I actually bought them in a store.” 

At everyone’s surprised looks he said, “Come on. Really? Did you guys think I dreamt everything I needed?”

“Maybe a little bit,” Henry said. “But cut me some slack, Lynch. I’ve been laboring under these delusions for literal years here.”

“Yeah, well. I definitely don’t. It’s kind of a waste of my time, especially because it’s easier and faster to buy shit. And besides,” Ronan said, “the flowers that I dream never turn out right anyway.”

Gansey perked up. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because my subconscious is weird as fuck, Gansey.” Ronan shrugged. “I have a lot of weird dreams that just happen to include improbable flowers.”

Blue jumped in and said, “Dreams are always weird. The weirdest one I’ve ever had was one where there were a bunch of giant gummy bears destroying Los Angeles.”

This sparked a debate between Gansey, Henry, and Blue about who had the weirder dreams. Ronan let the sound of their voices wash over him.

“Ronan,” said Adam. His voice was quiet, but Ronan responded to it as clearly as if he’d shouted. Ronan leaned forward so Adam could murmur in his ear, “I'd love to see your orchids later, if you don't mind showing me.”

“Yeah,” Ronan said. He swallowed. “Of course.”

Henry’s voice cuts into his awareness. “No, no. I’m telling you. This movie is fucking surreal. It gave me these insane dreams for literal  _ weeks _ . I think it’s on Netflix.”

“We should watch it!” Blue exclaimed. “Ronan, can you put on Netflix for us?”

“Sure, Sargent. Give me a sec.” Ronan stood up and went to go fiddle with the remotes and various controls. He didn’t really watch things on the television that often, especially because his laptop was so much easier for him to use. Ronan swore under his breath at the screen until Netflix popped up on it.

He handed Henry the remotes and said, “Have at it, Cheng. I’m going to go check on the greenhouse.”

“I think I’m gonna go too,” Adam said.

Ronan glared at Gansey in warning, but his glare went ignored. Luckily, Adam’s back was turned to Gansey, so he didn’t see the significant look Gansey and Blue shared. 

“Have fun watching your movie,” Ronan said pointedly.

Snow was falling from the sky in thick puffy clusters as they walked out to the greenhouse. It was starting to collect on the grass and in the trees. Adam walked right beside Ronan, so close that their elbows brushed every other step.

“So what all is gonna be in the greenhouse?” Adam asked.

“Well, I mostly grow orchids and dream flowers,” Ronan said, unlatching the door to the greenhouse. “There’s a vegetable garden too, but that’s only during the summer.”

When he pushed open the door, Ronan heard the sharp intake of Adam’s breath. The flowers in the greenhouse were all putting on their best, filling up the space with color and lovely smells. To an outsider, it might have looked like the garden of Eden reborn. To Ronan, it was just the product of many years’ work.

“They’re gorgeous,” Adam said, looking wondrous.

Ronan took off his coat, and hung it on a hook by the door. “It’s a hobby of mine, I guess.”

“Well, you’ve always had a gift with beautiful things,” Adam said.

Ronan shrugged, and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you haven’t seen the dream flowers yet.”

Adam smiled. “So show me.”

Adam followed him to the back corner of the greenhouse, where Ronan had a small table full of oddly colored and shaped plants.

“I’m not always sure what the plants are going to look like when I bring them back. Sometimes they’re just seedlings when I take them from the dreams. Some of them bloom strangely once I get them growing. Some of them haven't bloomed at all.” Ronan gently touched the small buds of the one with bright blue leaves. “That one has been like that for nearly a year now.”

Adam hummed gently, stroking a gentle finger over one of the buds. At his touch, the flowers immediately unfurled in vibrant shades of fuschia and yellow.

There were three of them in that greenhouse: Ronan, Adam, and the silence around those flowers.

Adam looked bewildered. “Ronan — ”

Ronan couldn’t handle it. “We should — we should probably head back to the house.”

“Okay,” Adam said quietly.

Ronan faced the wall as he put on his coat, spending the few seconds it took to zip it up berating himself for being so careless. He might as well have  _ I still have a thing for Adam Parrish _ tattooed across his forehead for how goddamn obvious he’s being.

Adam was standing by the door, watching him with a considerate expression. Ronan shouldn’t have been afraid of being seen by Adam Parrish, but that didn’t stop his lungs from tightening up a bit.

He opened the door, and let the cold air disguise the real reason he was flushing.

They walked back to the house, the gentle patter of the snowfall a counterpoint to the sound of the snow under their feet. The paleness of the snow kept the night from feeling dark. It was like walking through a poem or a song.

When they reached the front porch, Adam stopped on the top step, and looked out over the rolling hills. He leaned against one of the pillars on the front porch. Ronan leaned against the railing next to him.

“God. I forgot how magical this place was.” Adam took a deep breath. His exhale clouded the air in front of him like smoke. “I really missed this.”

Adam was looking at Ronan when he said it. The weight of Adam’s eyes was not unlike getting punched in the gut. Ronan’s chest felt scraped out and raw. He bit the inside of his cheek. Before he could talk himself out of it, he said, “You know, I miss you. All the time.”

“I'm right here,” Adam said, eyebrows pinched.

“Yeah.” Ronan couldn't meet his eyes. “I especially miss you then.”

The pale buck strolled past the front porch, leaving delicate footsteps in the snow. Like many of Ronan’s dream beings, he hadn't aged much since Ronan had pulled him from Cabeswater.

Standing there with Adam, it was like this moment hadn’t aged either.

Abruptly, Ronan realized that Adam was going to kiss him. His heart seized in a brief moment of panicked indecision.

Adam leaned towards him, and Ronan ducked his head away like the self sabotaging coward he was. Hurt flashed across Adam’s face so quickly that Ronan almost thought he imagined it.

_ I’m sorry _ , Ronan wanted to say. Instead what came out of his traitorous mouth was, “We should probably head back inside. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, probably.” Adam bit his lip and looked away. “I'm actually going to stay out here a little longer, I think.”

Ronan couldn't see Adam’s face, but he recognized the off-note in Adam’s voice. It was how Adam sounded when he was trying not to let his emotions strangle his words. Something in Ronan’s chest hurt from seeing glimpses of the Adam he used to know buried in this new Adam.

The screen door creaked a little when Ronan opened it. When Ronan glanced back, he saw that Adam was leaning with his elbows on the porch rail, staring out at the snow covered yard. The lights around the livestock barn left him silhouetted, a figure bowed in contemplation. As he went inside, Ronan made sure to ease the screen door shut so that it wouldn't slam. Adam still didn't look back.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Ronan had to take a moment to pull himself together before he walked back into the living room.

Blue and Gansey were curled up together on the couch, dozing. The booze and warmth had put them right to sleep. Henry sat on the floor in front of them, the back of his head leaning against Gansey’s hip. Even looking at them had Ronan’s eyes feeling heavier.

Ronan turned off the TV, and added another log to the fire.

He sat in front of the fireplace, looking for shapes in the flickering flames. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard a set of footsteps walking towards him.

“I should probably get going. I need to get home before the roads ice up too much,” Adam said. His hesitation made it sound like he was only saying it out of some sort of obligation, and not because he actually wanted to leave. 

“Okay.”

Adam put his hand on Ronan shoulder. The touch lingered, burning red hot through Ronan’s shirt.

“I just wanted to say bye before I head out.” Adam’s voice was low in the dimness. He paused. “It was good to see you again.”

Ronan turned his head slightly to look at the jutting knuckles and callouses of Adam’s hand. He remembered what it was to be touched by them. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Yeah, you too.”

Adam wavered for a moment, like he was going to say something else, but then he turned and walked away without saying anything.

Ronan closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did y'all think? Were y'all glad to see Adam again?  
> The real question is: was Ronan?
> 
> For clarity's sake, I'm just gonna remind y'all that Ronan gave Blue the engineless Camaro from TDT as a graduation present. It returns, and it's named Beans. Because Pig. Pork. Pork and Beans. 
> 
> I'm not even going to try and estimate when I'll have the next chapter done. Finals season approaches and i'm going to perish (and only 2 of my 5 classes have finals)(solids is really hard y'all)
> 
> Anyway, feel free to tell me what you thought, curse my name, weep about why these beautiful idiots aren't macking on each other yet, etc etc. I always love hearing back from y'all, and I hope I gave you plenty of things to talk about this time around ;)
> 
> (also i'm more than sort of working on a prequel fic, and if you want to see the _very_ occasional snippet, check out @coslyons on twitter or @questionabledivinity on tumblr. The tag is 'the thing with feathers', feel free to explore and ask me about it)


	8. January 2023

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Sorry this took so long! Here it is now, though!

In the no-man’s-land after the holidays, Ronan spent a lot of time avoiding thinking about the almost-kiss. Objectively, Ronan knew he should probably figure out where he stood on the whole issue, but it was a daunting prospect to think about.

He’d spent so much time convincing himself that he was better off without Adam that he didn’t know what to do when faced with the idea of dating him again. 

Luckily, he had plenty of other things to fill his time with that weren’t self reflection. Since everyone was in town, Mrs. Gansey and Helen used the entire week before Gansey’s classes started back up to plan for the wedding. Ronan knew that Blue was wishing her job was more restrictive about where she worked. At this point in the year, Blue usually worked from home, especially since her magazine was about two months out from the next issue.

But this year was unusual in more ways than one. They’d been growing up slowly but surely, but this year felt like they were all racing headlong into the rest of their lives. Some small part of Ronan felt like they were still too young to be getting married, despite the evidence to the contrary. 

The wedding was looming over all of them, some more than others. Ronan had tagged along with Gansey and Blue to DC to help them with some of the wedding planning stuff. Blue and Mrs. Gansey were discussing food at the reception, and so Ronan ducked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He heard some raised voices from the parlor, and so he decided to continue hiding in the kitchen. Ronan wanted to avoid talking in the middle of an argument about caterers or some other pointless shit. Eventually, the voices died down. A door opened and closed, and then the parlor was very quiet. He figured it was alright for him to make a reappearance.

When Ronan walked in, Blue and Gansey were facing each other with their arms crossed. Both of them looked pissed.

“I am sick and tired of you letting your mother walk all over you, and by extension me!” Blue said loudly. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Shit. Sorry for yelling, but I’m really bothered by how stressful your mother is making wedding planning.”

Gansey ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “What do you want me to do, Blue? Would you be able to tell your mom ‘I don’t want you to do anything for my wedding’?”

“Gansey, I think you’re misunderstanding me. I  _ absolutely  _ want your family involved in our wedding, but I think it’s important that our wedding is something that we’re choosing. I’m sure it will end up being a very nice wedding regardless, but I don’t want just some nice wedding. I want  _ our _ wedding.”

“I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say, Blue.”

“Look, Gansey,” Blue said as she rubbed a hand over her face. “I really love you, but I can’t look at you without being angry right now, so I’m going to leave and I need you not to follow me.”

Blue walked out the door, and Gansey rubbed a hand over his face. Helen and Ronan glanced at each other, both of them outsiders to the argument. After a moment, Gansey seemed to remember that there were other people in the room with him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he started to say, but Helen cut him off.

“Dick, my dear sweet baby brother. You do realize that you don’t actually have to pretend to be happy if you’re not. We’re not going to judge you for being less than perfect.”

“I—,” Gansey sat down heavily in a chair. “I don’t know what to do.”

Helen has a very thoughtful expression on her face as she goes to put her hand on Gansey’s shoulder. “We’re here to help you.”

Ronan decided to go look for Blue and leave the Gansey siblings to talk.

He found her outside by the rosebushes in the garden. She was glaring at them like they personally offended her by existing as she fiddled with her phone.

They stood together while Blue silently fumed. Ronan knew better than anyone that sometimes you just had to let yourself be angry. 

Finally, Blue ran her fingers through her hair and turned to him. “I’m what the kids call ‘really stressed,’ in case you couldn’t tell.”

“I know,” Ronan said, hands shoved into his pockets.

“I have to go back inside now, don’t I?”

Ronan shrugged. “Probably. It’s a little cold to stay out here forever. But you can avoid your problems for just a little longer, if you want to.”

Blue’s eyes welled up a little, and so Ronan held out his arms. She immediately went to hug him. Ronan always forgot just how small Blue actually was until moments like these. With every passing second, she seemed to shrink a little more, and his heart hurt for her.

* * *

 

The next day, Ronan got a phone call from Henry just as he was washing his breakfast dishes.

“Hey, Lynch,” Henry said, “Are you doing anything today?”

Ronan dried off the plate with the dishtowel. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you’re about to ask me to help you with.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Henry said. “I’m sure this is something you can get on board with. It involves two of our dear soon-to-be-newlywed friends and their pre-ceremony stress.”

Ronan shifted to lean back against the counter. “Okay. I’m tentatively in, as long as it doesn’t involve something terrible.”

“This is, like, the opposite of something terrible.” 

In the background of the phone call, a voice that wasn’t Henry’s said something unintelligible with an uplift at the end that sounded like a question. Henry’s voice was muffled as he responded, like he’d pressed the phone into his chest instead of holding it by his ear.

“Anyway,” Henry said, voice distinct once more, “I need you to go collect Blue and take her to the address I’m going to text you. Make sure she’s wearing something sort of nice. Don’t worry about Gansey; Helen’s got him.”

“Henry, what are you up to?”

“Don’t you worry about it, Lynch.” Henry sounded distracted through the phone. “I have to go, but see you in a bit. Also, please wear a nice-ish shirt.”

Henry hung up before Ronan could say bye. 

“I guess this is happening,” Ronan said aloud to himself. “Whatever  _ this _ is.”

Not wasting any time, Ronan went upstairs and changed into a button down shirt he found tolerable. He then collected his jacket and keys, and tugged his pink beanie over his hair. He drove up to 300 Fox Way and parked haphazardly on the street in front.

When he knocked on the door, Maura answered the door and let him in. He took off his shoes at the front door. 

“Hi, Maura. Can I borrow Blue for a bit today?”

Blue peeked over the bannister at the top of the stairs. “Hey Ronan. Why are you dressed so spiffy?”

“Henry said to,” Ronan said, climbing up the stairs. “Speaking of which, go put on something ‘vaguely nice.’ I’m supposed to take you somewhere, and you’re supposed to be dressed for the occasion.”

“Did Henry say where we’re going? Or what we’re doing?” Blue asked as she walked into her bedroom.

Maura’s anti-hoarding tendencies meant that the only thing that marked the room as Blue’s was the fact that her suitcase occupied a corner of the room. Blue dug through the suitcase on the floor. Her rummaging unearthed two different dresses.

“Which one of these is the correct level of niceness?” she asked.

“Fuck if I know.”

“Well you’re no goddamn help,” Blue huffed. 

After a moment staring at the dresses, she snagged the black one. From what Ronan could tell, it was embroidered with small and brightly colored flowers. When Blue flapped a hand at him, he turned around and looked away. The rustle of clothes indicated that Blue was changing into the dress.

Blue brushed past him wearing the black dress and a thick pair of tights. She held her boots in one hand and her bag in the other.

“Ready to go whenever you are.”

“Okay cool,” Ronan said, pulling out his phone to text Henry.

_ i’ve got blue. where am i meeting you? _

His phone buzzed with the location as Ronan and Blue walked to the front door.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said.

“What?” Blue asked, bending over to pull on her boots.

Ronan showed her the screen. “Henry sent us GPS coordinates instead of an actual location.”

Blue grinned. “An adventure! How exciting!”

***

On the drive to wherever the fuck Henry was taking them, Blue navigated while they talked about where they thought Henry was sending them. Blue’s theory was “surprise party” and Ronan’s theory was “murder cabin”. Regardless, Google Maps was sending them on a long winding road through the middle of nowhere as they climbed higher and higher into the mountains.

Ronan’s music provided a counterpoint to the rumbling of gravel under the tires of the BMW as they went further and further from civilization. He’d only suggested murder cabin as a joke, but now he was actually more than a little nervous about what they’d find once they arrived at the coordinates.

They came to a stop at the end of the gravel road. Ahead of them, a forest spread itself over the mountainside. There weren’t any leaves on the trees, but that still didn’t stop Blue from gasping. Ronan could relate. The forest was no longer Cabeswater, but that didn’t really seem to matter. It was a forest of memories, and that had its own kind of magic.

Henry’s car and another, unfamiliar car, were already parked just off the side of the road, so Ronan went ahead and parked next to them. The sound of the engine drew Henry himself out of the trees. He waved and gestured them to follow him. They walked single file down a dirt trail that Ronan hadn’t even noticed at first glance and was only wide enough for one person at a time.

They walked for about ten minutes or so, only to emerge into a clearing lit with candles of all shapes and sizes. Adam and Gansey stood close to each other, not quite huddling for warmth, but close to it.

“Blue’s here,” Henry told Gansey.

Blue and Gansey went to stand together, and so Ronan went to stand next to Adam.

“Do you know what this is about?” Ronan asked.

“No clue,” Adam replied.

They didn’t have to wait long for an explanation, though. After a moment, Henry cleared his throat, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages: welcome one and all to the marriage of Blue and Gansey.”

Gansey looked startled. “Wait, what?”

Henry shrugged. “You two were so stressed about the wedding that I thought it would be a good idea to give you a moment to do what you’d like without having to worry about what other people thought—a low stress ceremony before the big ordeal, so to speak.”

Gansey was dumbstruck as he stared at Henry, but Blue just snorted and started laughing.

“So  _ that’s _ what all the cloak and dagger stuff was about?” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I appreciate your flair for the dramatic Henry, but you do realize that you could have just told us what you were doing?”

Henry pursed his lips in displeasure as Adam patted him on the shoulder.

“Well,” Henry said, “Do you want to do this or not? Because if you don’t, that’s cool too. I just thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“What the hell,” said Blue. “Let’s do this.”

***

“Queerly beloved, we are gathered here today to marry Blue Sargent and Richard Campbell Gansey III. We all love them, and they love us, but they especially love each other. And now, I’m going to put them on the spot and make them tell us what they love about each other. Gansey?”

“Oh. Um. Well.” Gansey fiddled with his glasses. “I really love the way she cares so much about everything. I love her smile and I love the sound of her laugh. I love the way she dresses and I love how she’s not afraid to tell anyone what she thinks. She’s always the best part of my day.”

“Gansey, you beautiful romantic. That was wonderful. Blue?”

“You’d think since I had a couple seconds more to think on this, I’d have something, but here we are.” Blue laughed a little, then said, “Okay, here goes nothing: I love the little scrunchy face he makes when he’s reading a book, and how you can always tell when he’s been working on his thesis because his hair is sticking up on the sides. I love going on adventures with him.”

Ronan thought Gansey looked like he was about to cry of happiness, which is honestly how everyone should look on their wedding day. His own eyes felt a little warm watching the two of them look at each other. 

“Now that we’ve heard from the happy couple themselves, I have only one question to ask,” Henry said with twinkling eyes. “Do you, Gansey, want to marry Blue?”

Gansey looked at Blue. He smiled and, voice thick with unshed tears, said, “I do.”

“And do you, Blue, want to marry Gansey?”

She squeezed Gansey’s hand. “I do.”

Gesturing grandly, Henry said, “Then I now pronounce you Blue Sargent and Richard Campbell Gansey III, except married.”

Blue and Gansey kissed to the sound of the rest of them whooping and hollering.

***

The five of them ended up in a dance hall afterwards. Apparently Blue, Gansey, and Henry’s year on the road had given all of them a fondness for swing dancing that had been cultivated in tiny dance halls speckled across the continental US.

Ronan claimed a stool at the bar, and was watching his friends enthusiastically fling themselves across the dance floor. Seeing Blue and Gansey dance like that was completely unsurprising, since both Gansey and Blue were fond of outdated and strange hobbies. The real surprise was seeing Henry and Adam dance together, laughing the whole time The two of them were almost the same height, which according to Blue’s haphazard explanations, was actually a good thing for that kind of dancing.

At the end of the song, Henry patted Adam on the shoulder and made his way over to Ronan and the bar. He waved down the bartender and promptly received a bottle of beer. Ronan took the opportunity to get himself an overpriced bottle of water. The whole room was warming up with all the dancing bodies out on the dance floor, and Ronan was starting to get that lightheaded feeling of needing water despite his wallflower tendencies.

The two of them leaned against the bar, watching Gansey and Blue jitterbug. After a minute of this, Ronan nudged Henry. Once he had Henry’s attention, Ronan asked, “Is it weird for you?”

At Henry’s questioning look, Ronan continued, “You know, the people you’re basically dating got married to each other. Doesn't that make you the odd man out, so to speak?”

The look on Henry’s face was one you’d give to a cute but stupid puppy. “Ronan. Honey. If you think we didn't have a lot of conversations about where I fit into all this, you’re sorely mistaken.” Henry wrinkled his nose. “I'm not going to go into the details of my polyamorous relationship, because I can see the confusion on your little monogamous face, but just know that we’ve talked extensively about how our relationship works in the context of their marriage.”

“That’s, um. Huh.” Ronan fiddled with the label on his water bottle. “Good for you?”

“Please, Ronan. Stop before you hurt yourself,” Henry said with a smile. His face got serious suddenly as he looked out onto the dance floor. “You know, Lynch, for a long time, I thought you and Parrish would be the first of us to tie the knot.”

Ronan’s ribcage shrunk around his lungs. He forced himself to relax as he said, “I did too.”

“Really?”

Ronan shrugged halfheartedly. “I mean, it’s not like I was picking out a ring or anything, but before we broke up, I didn't really imagine a future without him in it.” He looked down at his hands. “Guess it goes to show that no one ever really knows how their life is going to turn out.”

“Jesus,” Henry said. He took another sip from his beer. “I mean, I knew it must have been serious because of how upset you were afterwards, but Jesus.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s over and done with now.” Ronan shrugged again. “We’ve both moved on.”

Henry eyed him speculatively. “Have you, though?”

Before Ronan could respond, Adam walked up and dramatically laid a hand on Henry’s shoulder. 

“Henry,” Adam said faux-solemnly. “Blue and Gansey want to show off your three way lindy hopping routine. Apparently they’ve been trying to one-up this other couple all night and are in desperate need of your assistance.”

Playing along Henry gasped, and then, handing his beer off to Adam, said, “I must go aid them. Adieu, dear fellows, adieu. My lovers await.”

Henry left, taking all the easy words with him. Adam and Ronan stood next to each to each other with an awkwardness that came from the knowledge that they hadn’t been alone together since their almost-kiss over Christmas. The silence was a physical presence, and Ronan didn’t know what to do with his arms anymore.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” Ronan finally managed.

Adam seized on the topic gratefully. “I’m a decent dancer—better at following than leading,. Henry’s a great dancer, though. In college, we spent more time than I maybe would have liked haunting the dance halls in the bay area, but it was fun.”

Ronan scuffed his shoe along the ground. “I didn’t realize you and Henry were that close.”

“It’s kind of a funny story, actually,” Adam said. “I didn’t know he was going to go to Stanford too, and so I was really surprised when I saw him in my TiS class. We kind of ended up hanging out after that.”

“TiS class?”

“Technology in Society class. It’s basically an elective.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah.” 

Adam drank the rest of Henry’s beer in one very appealing swallow that left Ronan tracing the line of his throat. Before Adam could catch him looking, Ronan looked out at the dance floor. The people out there looked like they were having a lot of fun. The DJ was starting to play through his list of requests, and so now people in cowboy boots were starting to take over the dance floor. 

“If you want to dance, Ronan, I’ll dance with you,” Adam said.

His initial reaction was an immediate  _ no _ , but after giving himself more than a split second to make a decision, Ronan said, “Yeah, ok.”

Surprise flashed across Adam’s face before being replaced with a crooked grin. He held out a hand, and Ronan took it. They stood up, leaving their empty bottles on the bartop and heading over to the edge of the dance floor. 

As they walked up, the music changed and Adam tilted his head. “I think this one is actually a two-step.”

Ronan raised his eyebrows. “Believe it or not, I know how to two-step.” He hesitated. “It’s been a while, though, so you should probably lead.”

Adam placed his right hand on Ronan’s waist, and Ronan rested his left hand on Adam’s shoulder. It took them a few beats to get on the right rhythm, but then they were gliding smoothly around the dancefloor.

“Are we ever going to talk about what happened at Christmas?” Adam asked, navigating them around the corners of the dance floor.

Avoiding eye contact, Ronan said, “I mean, I was kind of hoping that we could avoid that conversation, but if you think we need to talk about it, we can.”

“I think it’s probably a good idea.”

At the next turn, Adam spun them so that Ronan was leading now.

“The thing is,” Adam said, “I really want to make sure there’s not any miscommunication between us. You know, about the things we want.”

“I don’t really know what I want.”

They spun at the corner again, in a showy round of twirling that put Adam in the lead again.

“Let’s start here: was the not-kissing because of the occasion or because of me?”

Ronan sighed. “A little of both, if we’re being honest.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by trying to kiss you.” Adam paused. “Do you want me to back off?”

“Yes,” Ronan said, but that didn’t feel entirely right. “No. It’s complicated—too complicated to put into words.”

The music was starting to slow down, and people were already breaking apart and moving off the dance floor.

“You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

“Yeah, well, excuse me if I have a hard time being open about things,” Ronan said. The song was just ending, so Ronan took the opportunity to step back from Adam’s touch. “It’s just a little hard for me to trust you’re not just going to up and leave again.”

“Ronan, I—”

Whatever Adam had been about to say was cut off by the sound of people cheering as  _ Footloose _ came on. Ronan escaped the crush of people lining up dance, and found Blue, Henry, and Gansey all leaning on each other and giggling.

Adam followed shortly behind him. Ronan could feel Adam’s eyes on the side of his head, but he didn’t turn to look. Instead, he occupied the space at Gansey’s elbow and desperately wished he hadn’t stopped drinking alcohol.

Henry was looking at the two of them, and announced in a tone of voice that sounded forcibly cheerful, “If you guys want to leave, I can take Blue and Gansey back to Henrietta. I wouldn’t want to subject your delicate sensibilities to the sight of them making out like teenagers.”

Ronan snorted. “You forget that we all knew them as teenagers. Trust me, the making out wasn’t nearly as gross as the pining looks they gave each other.”

He regretted opening his mouth a bare second later, when Henry raised his eyebrows significantly at him.  _ You’re one to talk, Lynch _ , said Henry’s pointed look.

“I do think I’m going to head out, though,” Ronan said, trying to usher the conversation along. “I’ve got somewhat of an early day tomorrow and I should get to bed soon.”

“Yeah, me too,” Adam said. When Ronan glanced over at him, he was still watching Ronan. “Engineering projects wait for no man.”

They all said their goodbyes, and Ronan and Adam walked out to their respective cars.

When they reached the cars, Adam bumped Ronan’s shoulder and said, “I didn’t mean to interrogate you inside. I’m just trying to figure out where we stand with each other so I don’t cross any lines.”

Ronan’s breath fogged out in front of him in the night air. Adam was a warm spot close to his arm. “You didn’t. Cross any lines, I mean. I’m trying to figure this out too.”

“Just remember that you don’t have to do it alone.” Adam fished his car keys out of his pocket and opened the door. His eyes held a smile. “You should text me. I always love hearing from you.”

Ronan smiled in response. The smile lingered the entire drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy. A lot of things have happened since the last time I updated: I co-wrote a paper that's been submitted to a journal. I finished my semester with A's in all my classes. My sister graduated high school and gave a great valedictorian speech. Everyone in my family (~15ppl) lived at my house for almost a week and got smashingly drunk every night.
> 
> All this to say, it took me kind of a long time to finish this chapter. 
> 
> It's done now though! Please let me know what you thought about this chapter, since comments sustain me. Feel free to pop by my tumblr or twitter (@coslyons on both) if you want to chat more about two-stepping or Virginian marriage laws or not knowing how you want to love someone  
> (I may not be much help with that last one, though. There's a reason that I wrote this fic, and that reason is heart hurt)


	9. An Explanation, and the Plan Moving Forward

Hi everyone,

 

Sorry for dropping off the grid for a while there (she says, more than half a year later).

 

You'll notice in the summary that I've mentioned that this fic is not abandoned, and it's not.

 

I still think about this story a lot, but after a lot of deliberation, I've decided that I can't write the remaining chapters the same way I wrote the beginning of the story. As such, I'm planning on completely rewriting the story and the plot, probably over my winter break. It will probably end up being less sad and more Hallmark Christmas movie-like, mostly because I've decided that the heart of the story that I want to tell really happens over Christmas.

 

The reason for the rewrite is twofold:

1) I hate reading all my old writing, and also I literally don't remember what I was thinking about for the end.  
I started my creative writing certificate this semester, and as such, am thinking a lot more about craft and cohesiveness in storytelling. This story is really messy and I don't know if I'll be able to read the beginning to write the end in the same style. It will be a much cleaner story if I just rewrite the whole thing. Part of the messiness of the story is in its extended timeline, so I'll probably condense the timeline to about a week or two around Christmas.

2) I am not in the same place, emotionally, as I was when I began this story.  
I was going through a really messy "break up*" when I started writing this story (*we were in that weird place between friends and dating when things fell apart). When I started this story, I began it from a place of wanting someone who left you to realize they were wrong to do so. I wanted to write the story where you could get back together with someone, even after they left you behind.

(Spoiler alert: you can’t. Once you know that you’re not something important to someone, it’s impossible to love them again.)

Since the last time I’ve update, other shit has gone down with my ex-something-or-other. For the most part though, I’ve done some moving on, had some emotional growth, finished my character arc, yadda yadda yadda. The take away is that I can’t actually finish the story the same way I started it, because I wrote it with emotions that I no longer have and am quite frankly uninterested in dredging up again for the sake of a fic I don’t love.

As it currently stands, there is no ending to the story where Adam and Ronan end up together. The only endings that feel emotionally satisfying for me as the author are the ones where Ronan realizes that he’s better off without someone who didn’t care about him enough to choose him. I’m just too angry to write an ending where they’re in love, and that’s on me. (I’m saving all my anger for CUPSI, but that’s a story for another day.)

 

I want to give y’all a good story, and I can’t do that with what I’ve got now. I’m not proud of this story anymore, and I want the chance to make it better.

I debated for a long time about whether to address this or just to post the revised version with no comment, but I decided that I’d rather give you all the facts. The revised story might not be what you’re looking for, and that’s okay.

Additionally, I don’t necessarily think that authors in general owe readers an explanation for gaps in updates, but I personally have been feeling really guilty about the fact that I’ve emotionally abandoned this story and wanted to talk about the situation to clear my own conscience.  
  
Thanks for reading,  
Kace  
  
P.S. If there’s something you’d be interested in seeing in a fluffy Hallmark special of a fic, drop me a comment. No guarantee it’ll make it into the story, but I would love hearing your thoughts on it.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if anyone is interested, I can post my notes for the rest of the original story. They’re at varying levels of completeness, but I do have some stuff written.


End file.
